Crimson & Silver
by Yoshimara
Summary: Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play? Warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc)

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N:** This is a gift fic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession with both men. This is for her!

* * *

**~*Prologue*~**

Deep within the recesses of ones mind lay all thoughts and dreams of the soul. Be it not in words that it must speak, but mere colors of every shade. All of these hues dance intricately in an ancient choreographic style that has been part of every mind since the beginning of time. And it was these shades of color that birthed a common element in the human psyche: fear.

It is through these fears that people devised tales of blood-sucking creatures and other-worldly beings; claiming they were nothing but mindless drones of evil and their only agenda is to maim pure women and ravage innocent offspring. Oh, how the naive populous was misguided.

These stories had given life to ideas to the scientists of the present, like the concept of light bulbs to repel the demons. If a human dare claim to be what they do not understand, those who hide behind their beakers and test tubes fall upon their prey with sterilized scalpels and hidden intentions. No mortal ever once asked a single question for clarification without the needles and masks that many show contempt towards.

With the amount of sins one has committed, there is no room for explanation and theories; only agony and isolation are the remedies. In one's home of the shadows those whispers of the outside world dragged through the breeze in hissing jeers, reminders of the seclusion one was subjected to. The lies and deceit one must commit for survival is just as strong as the sword of bullet. They fight to be recognized by societies when in truth they are destined to walk in solitude.

But the blood that drips through these fingers coats the soul in a vibrant blanket, giving life to the subconscious colors that reside within. Fear, sorrow, guilt—so many emotions battling for dominance that the sexless purr spoke out of the darkness with an insane blood lust, demanding to be freed from the shackles that tether its existence to the mortal plane. Desiring the anguish one suffers, the dark taste of blood to quench its thirst. Ruin, havoc, mayhem, confusion, mutilation, devastation...

Chaos.

And yet, the creature lays in wait within the metal cage; watching and waiting as the world continues to rotate. With eyes closed to the reality, soreness resulted from needles and countless incisions to repay the wrong doings with suffering and tears no longer existing. Until the time arrives for forgiveness, the darkness has become the home away from home. Gaia, bestow a sign that one may interpret as redemption...

And repair this broken soul.

Vincent Valentine

* * *

**A/N:** So, if you haven't guessed, I'm back with yet _another_ multi-chap! I know the prologue is kinda bleak and morbid, but that's Vincent for ya—especially since he's the one that wrote it. It's kinda like an over-voice thing they do in movies, ya know? Enjoy the rest of the actual story!


	2. Chapter 1

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc)

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N(1):** This is a gift fic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession with both men. This is for her!

**A/N(2):** This takes place a little bit before the "final showdown" during the Anime series for Devil May Cry. So, there may be some spoilers included in this story. If you haven't watched the show, you should!

* * *

**~*Chapter 1*~**

In the little country town, the mid-day sunshine was bright and shining in such a way that even those in the foulest of moods couldn't help but smile. The tranquil air was everywhere, letting the cobbled streets fill with the townspeople. Children laughed in the road, playing their games while the adults were pleasantly bustling about.

Ignorant in their own world, no one paid any mind to the little corner on the East side of town. There stood a building with large oak double doors at the head of a set of cobblestone steps, the bay windows at their sides shrouded in sheer dark cloth from the inside. Three words were inscribed by fluorescent lights jutting from the awning above the front doors in unlit red shades: Devil May Cry.

Between the last two words was a silhouetted male figure, one arm crooked over his head while the other held onto a large sword, tip pointed in a diagonal position away from his spread feet while the long overcoat billowed behind it. Not many knew what resided within those walls, let alone what 'Devil May Cry' was or if it was even a legitimate business. Rumor had it that it was just a cover for some kind of mob; others gossiped that it was home to a satanic cult that the government had kept under protection. Of course, outsiders knew the true nature of 'Devil May Cry''s existence.

It wasn't an organization, nor was it a front for sinister acts. If one were to sum it up, it would basically be a home to a certain 'hunter' of sorts. Sure, the townsfolk knew the man behind the operations, but they would never suspect him of devilry. Which is funny to say the least, because of just _who_ he was.

Inside the well-kept building was a rather expanse studio. There were a few steps leading from the door to the inner reaches, a faded red carpet lining the front doors. It wasn't exactly a welcome mat, but it served the same purpose as one. On the right wall stood a large antique billiards table equipped with a cue rack in the corner that housed a set of pool sticks, a couple cubes of chalk, and ball racks of different chaps, sizes, and colors. An elongated window stretched along the same wall with similar fabric concealing it; resulting in the bright morning sunlight to take on an evening glow as it radiated through out the room.

On the left side of the foyer-like room was a coffee table made from oak with a faded gray couch and loveseat framing it. Standing in the corner behind the furniture stood a rather old television set atop of a square cabinet. A fine layer of dust had settled on them, speaking volumes of their misuse. On the center of the table sat a few mechanical and style magazines with a deck of cards on top.

Sitting by the wall opposite of the front door was an elegant mahogany desk that was home to a lamp, a photo frame, a black telephone, and a forest green coffee mug still steaming.. On the left stood a door that revealed steep wood stairs leading to the second floor. Behind the desk was a man, his thick leather-clad feet propped on top of the desk, crossed at the ankles, and thick leather pants of a deep crimson on his muscular legs. He wore a matching crimson trench coat that trailed to the floor, a black long-sleeved shirt underneath, his arms crossed in a relaxed fashion over his chest. His face was obscured by an open fashion magazine that lay limply over it, barely hiding the short silver locks on top of his head.

His breathing was achingly slow, as if he were in a state of unconsciousness. The silence around him was peaceful and comforting. Of course, all good things weren't meant to last and in his feigned comatose state, he heard the loud click followed by a long creak that could only mean the front door was opening. He could feel more than see the cheerful sunlight that poured through the doorway before the finalized sound of the large door thudding closed.

_'I really should fix that,'_ the silver-haired man thought dimly, choosing to ignore the clicking of heels on the floor.

"You're looking a little down today, Dante," a low voice echoed through the somewhat sparse room. The silver-haired man didn't move, didn't acknowledge the voice that reminded him so much like a housefly in annoyance.

_'Maybe it'll go away if I ignore it,' _he thought in bored contemplation. The footsteps stopped in a close range, silence breaking through once more. After a minute of feeling eyes on him, he sighed roughly. Dante raised a gloved hand to shift the magazine minutely upwards and saw a man with slicked light-brown hair and a matching mustache. Normally, said man would be wearing a long-sleeved dress shirt, dress vest, slacks, and black leather shoes to tie the ensemble together nicely. Apparently today was no different for his guest was dressed in the aforementioned attire consisting of a white shirt, navy vest, tan slacks, and trademark shoes.

"What's the visit for today, Morrison? Business or pleasure?" Dante asked, voice low and teasing. Shadowed slate eyes flickered before the hand removed the magazine fully and placed it carelessly on the desk. His face was slender and young, but held a bit of wisdom around his eyes. His mouth curved into a mirthless smirk as Morrison casually leaned against the wood, his own smirk in place.

"Now, Dante," the brunette chided sarcastically, "why must you be so rude? Can't I just visit an old friend?"

Rolling his eyes, Dante shifted so one arm relaxed behind his head, the other reaching over to his desk and grasped the steaming mug of coffee. Feeling the warmth radiating from it, his other hand grabbed the other side, eyes sliding closed while relishing the sweet aroma of mocha and vanilla. The warmth spread through both hands, bringing some sort of unidentifiable comfort.

Calmly opening his eyes, his gaze traveled to the older man who looked so serene and collected. Raising a slender eyebrow, he spoke in a deadpan manner, "What's the shit-job this time?"

With a soft breath, he exhaled over the rim of his coffee before taking a wary sip. It seemed that recently, the jobs just weren't cutting it anymore. Or maybe they grew tedious ever since he'd paid his debts to everyone—whichever it was, it didn't matter to the half-demon.

"It's nothing difficult. You shouldn't even need your weapons."

"Uh huh. The last time you told me that, I almost burned to death. Just explain yourself Morrison. Otherwise, I'm gonna take another nap."

A sigh. "There's been reports of strange happenings on the edge of town. People have disappeared, screams in the night—."

"So, the stuff that B-rated horror flicks are made of," Dante interjected, his tone dripping with disdain. He took another sip of his coffee before placing his mug back on his desk. The smirk was back and he tilted his head back slightly, "And—let me guess—I'm being hired to check it out? Since when am I runnin' a detective agency?"

Dante heaved a dramatic sigh when a noncommittal grunt sounded from his companion. His smile molded into a frown, eyes closing again as he leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest. After a few quiet contemplative minutes, the silver-haired man let out another sigh.

_'I guess I oughta hear him out,' '_he thought exasperatedly.

Opening his slate eyes, he rose to his feet with a soft groan. Shooting a glance over to Morrison to see him watching the half-demon patiently, he rolled his eyes and shoulders.

"What're the specifics?"

0o0

**A/N: **Alright, I know I probably have the layout wrong for his office, but hey, it's my story dammit! I'll have the layout however I want! :snicker: Anyways, I'm hoping this will be as big of a hit as my "Chains" series was. I'm having fun writing this one! Please enjoy!


	3. Chapter 2

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc)

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N(1):** This is a gift fic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession with both men. This is for her!

**A/N(2):** Be forewarned, there will be **gore** in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you!

* * *

**~*Chapter 2*~**

It was early into the night when Dante left Devil May Cry with his trademark fabric guitar case strapped to his back. The heels of his boots clicked on the cobblestone road, his gloved hands nestled deep into his coat pockets. The sounds of car engines and footsteps echoed through the air that was warm but not enough to be uncomfortable. As he walked, his mind ran over the conversation that took place earlier today with Morrison.

"_What're the specifics?"_

_Morrison shifted his position so his butt leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded over his chest in a lax manner. _

"_You don't have to sound so excited," he said sarcastically._

"_Sorry," Dante replied in a deadpan tone, "I'll try to keep my giddiness in check." Gloved hands pulled on the edges of his jacket, rolling his neck to relieve the tense muscles._

"_Good," Morrison quipped with mock glee before growing serious. "As I was saying, there have been reports of strange stuff over the last month. Details include a blue light, screams in the middle of he night, and women have gone missing."_

"_Women?" Dante asked skeptically, his brow furrowing in concentration as he turned to survey his agent. "Don't tell me—they're all virgins?"_

_Morrison smiled before shifting his hips so he was more comfortable. "Not all of them," was the reply._

"_Really? Well, that's not part of the plot," the hunter murmured, rolling his light colored eyes in a manner of annoyance and sarcasm. Picking up his mug off the desk again, he glanced over to the brunette._

"_Who's the guy that's offering the job?"_

"_Husband of one of the missing women."_

_Dante sipped his beverage and rose an eyebrow._

"_Seriously, Morrison. You think I'm gonna take this?"_

_He watched his companion pull a small silver case out of his vest pocket, taking a slender cigarette from inside and placed it in between his lips. The barely audible click of the small lighter followed by the familiar burning sweet scent of tobacco smoke went unnoticed by the half-demon. He knew that if Morrison had to have nicotine it must be serious—or he's just an addict and is using the cancer sticks to force Dante to listen. Either way it usually worked. He took another sip of his coffee, letting it work its powerful magic on him._

"_I know you will, Dante. You'll get curious, not to mention I'm betting you're bored out of your mind."_

_It was true. Lately everything had been very slow, like the calm before a storm and the hunter didn't like it. Well, other than a few mild beings that popped up—which seemed more like a waste of time than anything else—he'd been at home most of the time re-reading his book collection._

_Dante sighed, rolling his shoulders again. To say he was disappointed would have been an understatement. His gaze fell to his drink before looking over at the brunette, eyes glinting in the dim light dangerously. Deep down he knew that if he didn't accept his that he would surely died of boredom. But..._

"_I'll think about it."_

_He _could _delay having to execute it._

And thus, it's what conspired Dante to be out and about at this time of night—aside from the fact that it's what he preferred anyways. As always, he barely paid any mind to his surroundings, just letting his mind wander.

_'As soon as I finish this and find out it's nothing, I think a nice strawberry sundae and an extra large pizza should make up for this shitty night,'_ he mused, deciding that the 'after party' would be worth it. From the sounds of it, it was probably a demon working on a summoning spell or what not. Maybe Dante should stick around and see what will pop up. His gaze lifted to the sky, the darkness of it rather—_becoming—_of the irritation he felt. He couldn't help but chuckle breathlessly at the ridiculousness of it all..

Dante, Son of Sparda, famed Devil Hunter, owner of Devil May Cry, was on his way to play detective for God knows why. Maybe that should be put on the job description. Oh, he could see the business cards now!

_**Devil May Cry**_

_**Demon Hunter and Detective**_

"_**Got a demon that needs slaying or**_

_**a case that's unsolved? Call us!"**_

Although, the slogan could definitely use some work...

Looking back in front of himself, he vaguely realized he was closing in on his destination. Office buildings and night clubs were dwindling behind him as he walked on. At that discovery was when it hit him.

The smell of death, decay, and sorry attacked his heightened senses vaguely, but it was there. Stopping in his stride, his slate eyes took in the area around him. The buildings had gotten smaller and shabbier. Dante knew that some of the people that were dwelling here were broke, drug addicts, alcoholics, homeless—so many poor souls that took a wrong turn somewhere in their lives.

Deciding he needed to keep going, the hunter began his stride once more to where the scent was strongest.

_'Damn,'_ he thought exasperatedly, _'you never get used to that stench. Like a whole block of overheated morgues. Never gets out of your clothes, either.'_

But his feet kept moving, his nose involuntarily acting as a guide of sorts.

oOo

Minutes passed and with each step the half-breed took, the horrendous aroma got stronger. He knew that he could block out the scent, but that would be pointless. The 'briefing' never gave an address, ironically, but his gut told him that what he was looking for was the cause of this. And, of course, it was never wrong. So he kept walking, his body language giving off a strong sense of pride. Step by step he subconsciously felt the comforting weight of his guns, Ebony and Ivory, bouncing in their holsters.

When he stopped, Dante's steel gaze stared at the once beautiful home that—surprisingly—wasn't cramped by anything else. In fact, it really _was_ on the outskirts of town. The nearest building was at least three blocks away.

Wooden planks that had grayed with age covered the windows, graffiti littering the dirtied bricks with gang tags and poorly drawn lewd pictures. It reminded the half-demon of the stereotypical haunted house that children would dare each other to spend the night in..

_'Well, shit. Just how cliché can ya get?'_

Rolling his shoulders to straighten out a kink in them, his heavy boots strode up the homely walkway and towards the decrepit wooden door. So many scents that shouldn't be together mingled in borderline overwhelming amounts through his nostrils.

_'Oh yeah, this's the place.'_

Each aroma could be picked out of the cluster that was poorly shielded by the door before him. The silver-haired man took a hesitant sniff of the air to process them.

Earth. A comforting scent that soothed those in tune with themselves and nature. Amongst it was the dampened terrain, both dying and live foliage, with undertones of rainwater. Normally a refreshing scent but the mixture only proceeded to taint rather than purify.

The next scent he detected was rank and immediately raised red flags in the back of his mind. Metal. Coppery wisps snaked his sinuses in their ghostly web. It reeked of death and corruption that the hunter was all too familiar with. Human, if he had to guess. Underneath the bloody aroma was that of decomposing flesh, followed by a presence Dante instinctively knew wasn't human.

Sliding Ebony out of its holster, he used his other hand to open the large-double doors. The wood groaned and hinges squealed in protest irritatingly loud, but it didn't frighten him one bit. If anything, he felt exasperation pump through him while he fought a heavy sigh.

_'Great. Next thing I'll see is a flock of bats,'_ he internally scowled. _'Or maybe I'll get lucky and the boogeyman will try and jump me.'_

That last thought made his mood brighten a bit. Just the mere _inkling_ of a fight got his blood pumping. A vague smirk lit his features momentarily before it fell away. The heavy smell bombarded his senses so powerfully that it made him take a step back. Light colored eyes scanned the large room before him easily, as if the darkness was a source of illumination.

If there were any colors in the large room, the devil hunter couldn't see them. The coppery fragrance was so overpowering that the half-demon grimaced at the minuscule amount of bile that slithered up his esophagus, burning when it halted just below his jaw.

_'Holy—fuckin'—shit.'_

Covering the floor, the walls, and sections of the ceiling was so much blood that it was impossible for it to have come from just one human being. The term bloodbath was an understatement. His slate eyes watched a few single streams inch their way down towards the floor. Random body parts—fresh and decomposing—were piled along the walls, heads on top with various expressions. Some were serene with their eyes closed, some had their mouths open in a silent scream; the rest had bits of flesh and muscles melting off of the aged bones.

"There's no _way_ this is a month's work," Dante muttered in pure disbelief as the low sound of buzzing flies hummed through the air. Numerous flies circled through the air, obviously content with the 'all-you-can-eat buffet' around them. Maggots were nestled among the flesh mounds, squirming with a sickening squelching sound as they moved around one another. It was official. Dante was seriously grossed out.

Did one of these victims have a calendar? He needed to mark the date as proof that the Son of Sparda had finally seen everything.

Using his free hand as a mask over his mouth and nose, the silver-haired man attempted to drown out the aroma with one of leather. Sadly, it didn't work. Instead, he just got the scent of treated cow hide added to the mix. His nose scrunched up in disgust as he swallowed, pushing the small amount of vomit back from whence it came. Closing his eyes, he slowly counted to ten.

_'One—two—three.'_

The incessant buzzing of those insects grew annoyingly louder.

_'Four—five—six.'_

The raunchy smell slowly began to fade as his senses grew accustomed to its presence.

_'Seven—eight—nine.'_

The pictures of what used to be the foyer played through his mind in still shots. Where furniture should have been, the heaps of liquefied dismembered limbs were placed almost ritualistically. As to how many there were, he didn't know; they seemed to run into one another, so it was difficult to determine where one started and the other began. But there wasn't any but the door. Lines that should have been slathered in the blood stood untouched in the center of the floor, drawn in a familiar pattern.

_'Ten.'_

Dante's eyes flew open, the room unchanged except for the migrating clouds of flies. His gaze fell to the floor, tracing the stark white chalk lines drawn on the tile. A large circle measuring in about fourteen feet in diameter stood out, a star with its top point facing him in the middle. Astrological symbols were doodled in the open gasps of the pentagram**(1)**, some easily recognizable to the half-demon. Mars, Mercury, Venus, Neptune—other letters from the ancient demonic language accompanied these planetary visions. His eyes narrowed as he realized what this ritualistic formation was used for.

"A summoning circle?" he questioned to himself, the hand on his face falling back to his side. "What the hell are they summoning that requires this much blood?"

Just thinking of the possibilities made him shiver with distaste. They were all the same; big, ugly, too many wings or hands, and covered in scales. Sure they were easy to kill, but they ended up being redundant.

Dante caught a quick movement of black in the corner of his eye, but when he lifted his head, there was nothing out of place. Slate eyes scanned the back of the foyer for any sign of life from the shadows. Bits of broken furniture barricaded the doors that stood there except for one, obviously leading to another part of the house. A shimmer of azure light flickered underneath one of the doorways, casting eerie shadows and lighting up the dried blood pools to look violet rather than dark brown. The light looked very out of place in the grotesque setting, but it served to jar the half-breed out of his defensive thoughts. If anyone responsible for this—_catastrophe—_was still around he couldn't tell. And maybe it was for the best.

As he walked deeper into the bloodied mess, he tried not to pay attention to the faint cracks of the dried fluid beneath his feet. Carefully treading on the outer circle of the pentagram, he fought a flinch when he stepped on something solid. He looked at the filthy floor and lifted up his foot only to grimace. A bone finger coated in remnants of blood, muscle, and flesh lay almost crushed underneath his weight. A fresh onslaught of decaying aroma assaulted him and his face scrunched up tighter.

"Shit," he uttered quietly, as if speaking louder would cause disrespect, "sorry about that."

Of course, he wasn't actually sorry. But isn't it polite to apologize when you step on someone's fingers—issues of being dead or alive aside? Regardless, Dante set his foot beside the ruined finger, the scent dying down to mingle with the rest of the loathsome scents around him. His gaze lifted to the door across the largely morbid room and he pressed on. Random thoughts crossed his mind with each heavy step accompanied by the crackling—much like dull tin foil—and the occasional snap of bone. Who would have gone through so much trouble to do this? And what the hell are they summoning? When he finally reached the door, he noticed the blood somewhat faded into the otherwise dirty floor. Holstering Ebony but not taking his hand off of it, he caught his last thought before opening the door.

_'I'm probably gonna have to burn these boots when I get back. Shame, really. They just started to fit good.'_

oOo

**'Someone's here,'** a deep voice spoke up in the darkness, alerting its host of the shifting presence. **'This one feels different. So—**_**divine!**_**'** Silence met the hungry tone that was familiar but not exactly welcomed. The surrounding darkness that was _his_ home, _his_ life, _his _prison—had changed just faintly but enough to be noticeable.

_'Let them come,'_ was the quiet reply after moments of silence. The low rumbling started out quietly and grew, resulting in a shiver down the hidden spine of its host. The sound was chilling and only represented one thing.

Insanity.

0o0

**(1):** A "pentagram" is a five-point star encircled with it's top most point facing downwards. It is easily mis-labeled as a "pentacle", which is a five-point star encircled with its top most point facing upwards. The pentagram is commonly used in Satanism while the pentacle is used in Wicca/Paganism. Yes, there _is_ a difference between the two religions. This is just an explanation and not at all associated with my opinions (despite my beliefs of being Wiccan). Send me a PM with any questions.

**A/N:** So there we have it! Chapter 2 is up and running smoothly! Thank you to my lovely beta (Izzy-Lawliet) for helping me with this. And can anyone guess what—or should I say who—the last part is pertaining to? Hm? First one to guess gets a gold star and a cookie! :D


	4. Chapter 3

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc)

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N:** This is a gift fic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession with both men. This is for her!

* * *

**~*Chapter 3*~**

When that leather-clad hand pushed open the swinging door, the hunter wasn't sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn't the cool air or the rush of light that made him cringe and cover his eyes with his arm. Hesitantly taking a step forward with his hand still on the wooden surface, Dante felt the light dissipate from around him resulting in lowering his hand down to his side. He kept his eyes closed, letting his other senses take reign for a quick moment.

The air felt different around him but not in a threatening way. It was like there was something swarming around his body, questioning and exploring. So exhilarating but foreign, like one's first sexual encounter. As quick as it came, it left in what could only be described as a breeze.

His sinuses caught the sudden change of scent. Blood was no longer present, only to be replaced by nothingness with the vague scent of sterilizing agents and despair. A hospital? In the back of an abandoned house? He frowned while he tried to piece it together.

Silence echoed off the walls in overpowering waves. Dante could hear his calm heartbeat as if it were played through amplifiers. Stone walls maybe? Or a large room?

Finally deciding to open his eyes, he was greeted to a large room, expanse windows letting in soft sunlight. A single staircase arched on the right side of the roomy foyer, leading up to a second floor, thick double doors standing underneath it. The tiled floor held a single burgundy carpet flowing up the stairs. Everything looked pristine.

_'What the hell?'_

Dante looked behind him to see another set of double doors, but one was opened to reveal the carnage he had just left behind; but when his eyes rested on the scene, something wasn't right about it. The overwhelming metallic scent wasn't giving chase through the doorway, nor were the clouds of flies. In fact, it seemed like they were _avoiding_ it. He heaved a rough sigh only to halt halfway through.

As soon as the rush of air left his lips, the image of the "summoning room"—for lack of a better term—rippled like the top of a calm pond. Blue sparks flickered across the door frame harmlessly, as if they were mimicking a serpents tongue. The demon hunter rose both of his eyebrows in bewilderment before he shook his head.

_'A dimensional doorway,'_ he thought, face returning to its passive state, _'now it's _definitely not _cliché.'_

Turning back around, the half breed walked deeper into the room, his hand sliding off of the door. The air was stiff and tense, but not enough to leave him breathless. When he didn't hear the door close behind him, he peered over his shoulder to see it hadn't moved an inch. Lovely, a possessed door. Looking forward again, his footfalls were muffled by the plush carpeting with vague crackling that faded with each step he took.

_'Maybe I don't have to burn 'em.''_That was a pleasing thought.

"Well," he uttered quietly, "might as well check the place out." He groaned to himself and shook his head. This just didn't make any sense! Was that doorway an opening to another world? It had to be. Rolling his shoulders, Dante ignored the subtle 'pop' that came from them and surmised that he should get a move on.

Oh, he was _so_ getting that sundae when he got back.

oOo

The Gods were _really_ out to get him today. He was sure of it. How he knew? Well, let's review...

The silver-haired man had begun his investigation of the strange building almost an hour ago, going through every room with a fine tooth comb. He discovered the usual necessities within the doors in the foyer; a sparsely stocked kitchen, an expensive looking dining room, and a beautiful lounge.

Both wings of the second floor held many bedrooms of the same decor. Large comfortable looking beds with regal nightstands, lamps, and fully-stocked bookshelves. All in all it was a magnificent structure, despite the lack of art and knickknacks. But one question weighed heavily on the hunters' mind as he stood in one of the rooms on the top floor.

Where the hell were the bathrooms in this place?

Seriously, in a building this big there wasn't _one_ toilet? Were they outside—like those frontier stories? He didn't need to use them, but it struck him as odd. Slate eyes glanced at the large bookshelf as he thought.

All these books and no toilets? Way too weird. Whoever built this place was either insane or utterly stupid. Really. They got enough bedrooms to house a decent sized orphanage! It was like—

Eyes widened just a fraction in realization before relaxing to their normal size. Of course!

"Someone's hiding something," he growled lowly in annoyance. It took him this long to figure that out? Damn, he was out of practice. But it did make more sense. Why would there be so many books—interesting ones at that—in _every_ room and not a bathroom? Rolling his shoulders, Dante tried to remember what would have been even remotely considered as a hiding spot, fingers idly twirling Ebony in their grasp.

Every room had looked identical to the others, as if an OCD victim furnished them. Nothing was out of place, the only variable being the books. The silver-haired man rose an eyebrow at that thought. The books were of different subjects in each room; a demented but subtle way of introducing a theme to them. It was almost sad...

...It was also the only thing the half-demon had to go on.

And with this discovery, he spent the next ten minutes searching the numerous shelves for the answers while berating himself under his breath about how long it took him to realize it. Apparently this case was like a refresher course, which part of him was glad for. It didn't mean he was going to thank Morrison, though.

He stopped in front of a bookshelf in one of the western bedrooms and rose an eyebrow curiously. Absently, he read some of the titles**(1):**

_"Materia and Mako Fusion Vol. 1-12"_

_"Mako: A New Beginning"_

_"Mako in DNA"_

_"Mako + Lifestream = JENOVA"_

"What the hell?" Dante queried incredulously. Mako? Materia? He'd never heard of such things! This whole case was full of tomes about the mysterious thing. And by the looks of the scrawl, they were handwritten—no typewriters, either?—by someone named Hojo. Obsessed much? Damn, there were so many to go through! His gloves hands grabbed a couple of the books at random and absently shoved them in the side pockets of his guitar case. It's not like they'd be missed, right? He needed new reading material anyways. He wouldn't be getting the new issue of his favorite magazines until next month and he'd already re-read them four times.

When he straightened, a cool draft brushed against his cheeks. A smirk broke out on his lips.

"Jackpot."

In the space where the books once were, he could see a thin glass back to keep them from falling into the dark depths behind them. A feeling of elation ran through him before he snuffed it out, bringing the smirk with it. It wouldn't do to get excited this easily.

The case slid out of the way with ease to reveal a perfect door shaped opening with stone stairs leading downwards. Back to the first floor? A vague recollection of a game the blonde brat**(2)** would make him play with many rooms and hidden passages to solve a case flashed through his thoughts. Pft, no one would actually _build_ a house like that, would they? It was kind of stupid, really.

Or it could lead to a totally different place altogether. _That_ sounded promising. With another roll of his shoulder—he really needed to see a masseuse—he heaved a sigh.

"And down the rabbit hole we go," the half-demon mumbled and began to descend.

The cold air rushed against him as soon as he took his first step. He paused, eyebrows furrowed in curiosity while his skin got used to the temperature. Now that he thought of it, this would be a classical B-rated horror scene. This would have been the part where the creepy music would crescendo, louder and louder until the unsuspecting victim would turn and meet their demise.

A cruel smirk lifted onto the silver-haired man's face at the thought. He chuckled underneath his breath, shaking his head resignedly. Oh, how his imagination cracked him up! The laughter, with the smirk, died away again to be swallowed up into the dark stairway. Fingers twirled the black handgun once more and with a quick sigh, Dante proceeded to walk down the staircase and into the shadows.

Each footstep recoiled off of the bare walls and into the still air. Its coolness was refreshing but eerie as he moved, leather swishing in sync with his stride. His thoughts wandered, but his senses kept an acute awareness for his surroundings.

So, someone—or _something—_was trying to summon something, but by the looks of that blood-bathed room, it didn't happen. Instead, a dimensional portal leading to wherever the hell _this_ was showed up. He would have to look more into it when he got back. After the sundae and pizza, of course. How he knew that this place was different, it was a little hard to explain.

Everything felt off here. The air felt strange, sounds were sharper, even the taste lingering in his mouth was vaguely weird. The shadows around him danced teasingly, inviting him to their depths. It reached for him, caressing and touching in ghostly contacts. Shivers ran down his spine in electrifying waves, snapping him from his musings again.

His strides had come to a halt and he was facing an ordinary wooden door. The atmosphere was cooler here than up above, leaving a vague metallic taste on his tongue. But one thing felt off, and it didn't surprise him. If this lead to the basement, then why wasn't it damp down here? Puzzled, he cocked his head slightly to the side, silver tresses caressing the side of his face.

Leveling Ebony to his side, he peered at the strange door before him. Despite its appearance, it brought forth a sense of unease within him. Quickly, he squashed that feeling down. Whatever lay behind that barrier, he had to be prepared.

Let's just hope it wasn't another blood filled room. His boots _really _fit good and he didn't want to get rid of them...

...Or maybe he just didn't want to step on another finger.

Mentally, the hunter steeled himself. No matter what lay ahead, he'd face it.

oOo

What the hell? Okay, he knew that the house had something hidden, but this...

This was going to take _two_ strawberry sundaes to make up for all of this.

Currently, Dante stood in the middle of a large room illuminated in a neon green glow. Huge tanks were scattered in the space, computer terminals and metallic tables amongst them. Inside the glass containers was a thick green substance that randomly bubbled, soft humming of the machines filled the air.

"Well damn," the hunter mumbled in awe, even though his surprise was hidden behind his mask of indifference. This room made him think of that old black-and-white movie of the mad scientist raising shit from the dead. A quick visual sweep of his surroundings discovered a door on the far end of the room.

His brow furrowed as he thought, another twirl of the dark handgun. A huge mansion with no bathrooms and enough reading material to school a small college, a freaky basement with a lab—what next? A room filled with failed experiments? Just what he needed...

Best to get it over with, he figured.

Cautious strides brought him to the door, a sickeningly-sweet scent surrounding him in its blanket as he passed the tanks. The thought of fresh cotton candy crossed his mind, but it left as quick as it came. Shaking his head minutely, he pushed open the door to reveal darkness behind it.

Stepping inside, the door swinging closed with a quiet 'click', Dante was emerged in shadow. Keeping his breathing slow, he focused on hearing anything out of the ordinary. The hum from the previous room was muted, almost a faint buzz. Nothing else caught his attention for a few more seconds until the small intake of breath further in the room hitched in the stillness.

Dante stayed absolutely still, slowly raising Ebony up to an offensive position. Weapon at the ready, he kept his hearing tuned to those soft breaths that he could pick out easily now. Who would be stupid enough to sit here in the dark? The aroma of death, stale but nonetheless, accompanied by leather, human, and—demonic?—caressed him. Slate eyes adjusted to the dim and before he could make anything out, a quiet but deadpan voice called out to him.

"Leave this place."

0o0

**(1):** I have no idea what the books actually are, so I just made up my own titles. Yeah they're corny, but hey, I write stories not name things!

**(2):** Guess who?! :cackle: If you've seen the anime (not sure if she's in the game), then you'll know who it is. But she'll be introduced later on!

**A/N:** I want to thank the following people for reviewing so far! Just in case I didn't send thank you comments back, here they are:

_**Haltia, DarkBombayAngel, Amon2**_

Also, I'm sure I don't have some of the layout right for the setting, but there's only so much I can research (thanks to _ohxasphyxiationx_) without having played that far into FFVII, or any of the other games. But I did find my memory card so I picked up the game again! And yes, I know my attempt at humor sucks, bear with me! :giggle:

Thanks for reading! Keep an eye out for the next chapter and don't be afraid to send me comments!


	5. Chapter 4

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc)

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N:** This is a gift fic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession with both men. This is for her!

* * *

**~*Chapter 4*~**

_"Leave this place."_

The Son of Sparda blinked a few times in surprise at the low voice that erupted out of nowhere. The grip on his gun didn't waver as he let his gaze sweep the darkness.

The room was half the size of the last, five cubed shapes—large ones at that—were spread through-out, appearing closed except for one on the far side of the room. Other shapes were made out, but he couldn't exactly tell what they could be. The block that was opened held a silhouetted figure in it; he could vaguely make out hair and shoulders but colors were lost on him.

"What is this place? Home to science kitties and their rats?" he asked, tone even and low, despite the bite that issued forth. Silence followed his question and he wondered for a brief moment if the owner of the voice was trying to figure out his statement. The sound of tinkling metal was the only thing to alert him before he dropped to the floor, the deafening sound of a gunshot echoed off of the walls and suddenly the room was doused in light.

The first thing that Dante did was look for the origin of the gunshot in his crouched position. Slate eyes found their target in less than a second. A pure silver triple-barreled gun faced the wall before sliding over to aim at him. Holding the gun was a slender black gloved hand, and attached to said hand was a man not looking a day over twenty five. Long black hair framed deep maroon eyes and a pale face halfway hidden by the high collar of a bright red cloak. A matching headband was wrapped snugly across his forehead. As for the rest of his clothes, they were as yet to be revealed, same as his other arm and his legs.

The strangers' appearance shocked the demon hunter, but his face didn't betray the emotion. Surely it wasn't what he expected; the grace hidden in the faint outlines of his face, the way his movements gave little to no meaning towards his emotions. Pure beauty that was this creature before him! Silence spread between them while they monitored one another. He watched those crimson eyes widen minutely, hearing the brunettes' breath hitching behind the thick red fabric.

The second thing the silver-haired man did was slowly rise back to his feet, Ebony rising as well to aim it evenly at the raven-haired man but his finger lay beside the trigger. In his peripheral vision, he saw the cubed shadows were actually black coffins and the stranger was laying in one. Dante rose an eyebrow in confusion and wonderment.

"Well," he began, eyes shifting to the coffin before returning to those dazzlingly shocked orbs, "I shoulda known. Seriously. An experiment graveyard? I don't know whether to be glad I guessed right or to be freaked out at this point." His tone dictated sarcasm as he spoke.

"You aren't welcome here," the raven-haired man uttered, eyes narrowing in a critical gaze. His tone was quiet but demanding, almost like an animals' threatening growl.

"Just where the hell is _here, _anyways?" Dante asked incredulously but didn't receive a reply. Their gazes didn't falter, like eying one's prey. The devil hunter was growing impatient with the raven-haired man. Just what was this guys' problem, anyways? Wasn't it polite to answer someones' question here? Apparently not and that thought made him frown slightly. Cautiously, Dante lowered the sleek black handgun to his side, his head tilting vaguely in a curious gesture as he continued to study the man before him. The silence was thick with crackling tension as he wondered just what the stranger was thinking.

oOo

_'It can't be,'_ the raven-haired man mentally shouted. After he shot the light switch to the 'on' position, his reaction was pure shock at the figure before him. That silver hair, those slender but powerful features...

Cloud killed them off a year ago! How could the bastard still be alive? He watched—with Chaos as a witness—the remnant fade into the Lifestream as the blond held his dying body. Did this mean Sephiroth was to return?

At the thought of the General the beast within stirred restlessly, squirming with an unidentifiable urge. The ex-Turk narrowed his eyes as the other asked another question. Did he ever shut up?

Although it was better than him pining after his 'mother', he supposed.

**"What did I tell you?"** that deep voice hissed in his ear, **"even though his scent is something I've never caught, it's delicious. I wonder how he tastes? Would he bleed like you do? Do you think he would scream if you killed him?"**

He ignored the voice, finding it was always best to do so. Watching the silver-haired man tilt his head, he kept his emotions in check. He was used to the stares people gave him, but this one seemed different—harmless, almost. He spoke before his mind was able to stop it.

"I have no desire to indulge in your inquiries, remnant. Do you wish to be beaten again? You should have stayed in the Lifestream, _Kadaj_." His words were monotone but when the dreaded name fell from his lips, he was helpless to prevent the venom behind his voice. But he couldn't take it back, nor did he want to.

oOo

Dante blinked a few times, trying to process what the man had said. Remnant—like a puppet? Lifestream—some kind of facility, possibly? And who the hell was—?

"Kadaj?" the half-breed asked curiously before a mirthless smirk covered his lips. He found it best to cover up his confusion with sarcasm and indifference.

"Sorry. I'm not your little boyfriend." At the choked sound from the raven-haired man, the mask put itself in place fully. "I'm just doin' my job. Now, do you think you could get your head out of fantasy land long enough to tell me where the hell this is and why someone would open a door here? And quit pointin' that thing at me; you're gonna poke someone's eye out with it."

Crimson eyes blinked slowly, almost sleepily, trying to drink in the information as puzzlement flashed in them. The demon hunter holstered his weapon and slid his hands in the deep pockets of his trench coat. Slate eyes rolled lazily with his shoulders, another soft 'pop' settling in place.

"Not Kadaj," the raven-haired man said quietly with hesitation, thoughts whirling in his head so fast that he didn't realize he had lowered Cerberus until it was tucked away in the folds of his cloak. Maroon eyes narrowed again in thought.

_'He claims not to be Kadaj, but he looks similar to him. But now that I think about it,'_ the ex-Turk let his eyes drift up to those pale eyes that were well guarded, _'his eyes are completely different. No traces of Mako in them what-so-ever. But what—'_ it was then that the rest of the others' words sank in.

"Kadaj was an enemy," he said, raising one knee to let his arm rest on it. "He most certainly was _not_ my boyfriend." He paused before letting his eyes drop to the ground. Relief overwhelmed the strong defensive side of him, the presence of the beast gone dormant once more. "I apologize for my rudeness."

"Fine," was the dismissive reply, "now. Since you actually seem focused. You think you could answer my question? Actually," Dante added, surveying his surroundings as he spoke, "why don't we start with something easy." Flashing his eyes to look back over at the brunette, a mirthless smirk crossed his slim lips, "The name's Dante. And you are?" With the last statement, his eyebrows rose in a questioning manner, eyes meeting in a subtle look over. Whoever this was, he surely was a fine creature.

It was another moment before his—acquaintance?—spoke again, but in a neutral voice.

"Vincent Valentine."

The half-breed mulled the name over in his mind for a moment. A fitting name for him, he decided. Well, since he's actually talking, he thought he might as well try and get some more questions answered.

"You live here?"

"More or less."

"Where is _here_, then?"

"Nibelheim."

Nibelheim? A slender eyebrow rose as Dante grew silent, eyes staring at a blank stone wall. Where was that? Remembering his geography—or what he paid attention to anyways—surely, he'd never heard of such a place, so that could only mean that he wasn't home. That'd explain why everything felt off. And as far as he knew he wasn't stuck here. Interesting...

"How did you get here?"

The quiet question caused the silver-haired man to look back at Vincent before shrugging, his gaze sliding back to the wall. "My guess? Summon-gone-wrong-turned-dimensional-portal. Easy job, my eyes." he mumbled the last part, scowling vaguely as he thought back to his conversation with Morrison and the mayhem of that first room. Stuffing his disgust at having to face the wreckage again, he sighed quietly. When he looked back at the ex-Turk to see confusion lacing those stony eyes, he smirked. "I'll show you. Hell, maybe you can give me an idea of what the hell's goin' on."

Vincent seemed to consider the request before nodding in agreement. Carefully he maneuvered out of the box, the sound of metal scraping wood echoed into the air as his now visible golden claw-gauntlet and boot coverings moved. Standing, his red cloak obscured part of the leather ensemble he wore on his slenderly muscular frame. He briefly wondered what Dante would think of his appearance before the low laughter of Chaos chased it away. Walking towards the other, he halted a few feet away; he was close enough to catch the fleeting scent of leather, metal, blood, and strawberries.

"Lead the way," he said politely in his quiet tone.

Dante looked him over before shrugging nonchalantly, turning towards the door and walking through.

"By the way," the hunter threw over his shoulder as they passed through the door, "why the hell doesn't this place have bathrooms?" Totally random question, he knew. But it had been bugging him for awhile now and he knew that it'd keep nagging him until he got the answer. The mind may be a terrible thing to waste, but it can _really_ get on one's nerves.

The question puzzled Vincent. Why would that be important? This man obviously had attention issues. And if the previous line of questioning was any indication, then this was just the start. His eyebrows rose to hide underneath his headband, voice quiet as he answered.

"I'm not exactly sure what you mean."

They were passing through the large tank-filled room and Vincent halted just short of running into Dante's back, which had stopped. Their eyes met when the silver-haired man glanced over his shoulder at him, a vague smile on his face. Shaking his head, he wordlessly dismissed the subject before he looked towards one of the containers.

"So, what' the hell's in those, anyways?" the half-breed asked nonchalantly, trying his best to hide the curiosity he felt inside. The overpowering scent of sweetness bathed his senses, causing those slate eyes to wander around the room, searching for the source.

"Mako," was the soft reply, the eerie glow pulsing with an unknown beat. Slender silver eyebrows rose in interest before relaxing once more. Turning around to face the opposite door once again, Dante led the other towards it.

"Sci-fi geeks would _love_ this place," he mumbled in abhorrence underneath his breath, footsteps echoing through the room as they moved.

His thoughts began to run rampant, ushering him into a silence that was vaguely uncomfortable. But he didn't pay it any mind, hands shoved deeply into his pockets. Nothing made much sense to him at this point. Why was it that the doorway brought him _here _instead of the Hell where the beasts he knew about resided? This _Vincent_ didn't seem to be much of a threat, he mused with a slight smirk. The smirk faded, however, when they reached the staircase and began their ascent.

Slate eyes wandered over to his silent companion, taking in the statue-esque features and agile movements. He watched—amusedly at least—those ruby orbs flicker between the stairs below them and his back before returning to the floor. The Son of Sparda wondered for a moment what the raven-haired man was thinking before he tore that thought and mentally trampled the pieces. He didn't belong here; he had no business getting involved with this. By the time they reached the foyer, the ex-Turk's soft but scratchy voice caught his attention.

"Do you have any clues pertaining to the incident?"

Dante shrugged with one shoulder, eyes looked over the wooden banister at the first floor's front doors to see the one he came through was still ajar. Mentally cursing possessed doors, he looked back at the raven-haired man and shook his head.

"Apparently its now part of my job description," he quipped sarcastically, remembering the idea for his business cards. Maybe an intricate font and some well-meshed colored would take away the stupidity of the slogan if he couldn't come up with anything better.

"May I ask what your job could possibly be?" Vincent asked, dark eyes shifting from the doors to the half-breed.

Dante raised an eyebrow before smiling vaguely, "Not much of a title really." He looked towards the doors once more, gloved hand resting on the polished wood as he thought of how to put his next sentence. How could he sum up the hunting, detecting, lying, cheating, and pretending?

"A mercenary, I guess," he finally said. Might as well just omit the nasty parts. It wasn't like they'd see each other again anyways...

"I see," was the only reply from the older male as they descended to the first floor. Upon arriving at the front door, both men stared at the thrumming image of the carnage behind it. A flicker of blue electricity licked along the wooden door frame causing Vincent's eyes to widen in awe, the rest of his face schooled to indifference.

A smirk spread over Dante's face as he watched his companion examine the portal without laying a finger anywhere. Instead, those calculating ruby eyes ran all over the surface, theorizing and imagining not unlike a curious child exploring something wonderful. It amused the silver-haired man enough to allow the other his space.

When he stepped back a few feet, a glint of something caught his attention. Looking over towards the corner between the door-jamb and the floor, a gold shine beckoned to him. Raising an eyebrow, he knelt down to retrieve what he saw; a golden locket on a matching thin chain.

With the charm in his palm the silver swirls engraved on the surface surrounding a calligraphic 'L', blood splattering amongst the metal, Dante peered at it. Even soiled in such a way it still maintained its beauty. Snapping it open revealed two glossed pictures vaguely faded with age but still well kept. On the right was a young ginger-haired boy—very young—with the type of cheesy grin that only little kids can pull off and still look cute. Freckles littered the button-like nose that sat proudly between wide gray eyes.

The epitome of cute sat in his palm.

Funny. He thought it would burn.

The left picture looked almost exactly like the little boy only much older; late twenties to early thirties, if he had to guess. Same exact eyes stared back at him only to hold wisdom and age, the smile dimmed to a calm upturn of lips. His hair was a dark brown shade and straight, tied back to hide behind his slender neck. They both looked rather happy in the photos.

_'Damn,'_ Dante thought sadly, using his thumb and forefinger to to close the small locket, _'looks like they got left behind.'_

"This is—odd." Vincent's voice brought his attention back to his surroundings, steel eyes shielding themselves automatically. He looked over at his companion who had his arms crossed over his chest, hip jutting out as he stared at the doorway.

"I—haven't a single clue as to why it is here; or _how_ for that matter. There's not a single trace of materia or anything I have come across." The raven-haired man seemed to be talking to himself, brow furrowed and worrying his bottom lip in a way that made the half-breed shift uncomfortably. How could he sit there and do something like that? Didn't he understand what the hell it was doing to him?

Clearing his throat, the silver-haired man slid his gaze over to the door while catching the attention of the ex-Turk.

"Well, it's no big deal," he said with a shrug, thinking that _now_ would be a good time to go. "I'll figure it out."

He put his hands in his pockets once more, the locket still in his grip. Stealing a glance at Vincent, he found that he was actually _sad_ to leave. As to why, he couldn't say for sure. But he was on the job, he told himself in a way to explain for it. Despite the fact that deep down he knew the answer.

"My work here is done," Dante said while rolling his shoulders, "thanks for the help and—sorry for trespassing."

"You didn't," was the low reply, ruby eyes downcast. "I—don't receive much company, so I apologize for my rudeness."

The half-breed smirked, the mask of causticity back in place. A faint chuckle left his his throat and he sauntered over to the door. Facing it, he took in the sight of the blood soaked room and ravaged body parts. Hiding a grimace, he tossed a wave over his shoulder.

"See ya."

A flash of light and he was walking through the disaster once more, dancing around the littered appendages with ease and leaving the ex-Turk to stare at his dwindling image through a two-way mirror.

0o0

**A/N:** So, I realized halfway through writing this chapter that I stumbled across a serious problem. I have the story all figured out, the pairing is set, but... who's gonna top?

I felt stupid since usually the pairing has it all set up. So, I mentioned it to Izzy-Lawliet and she didn't have a clue either. Needless to say, we were at a loss. She suggested we both do 'eenie-meenie-miney-moe' to figure it out. I came up with Dante and she came up with Vincent.

Then I came up with the idea for rock, paper, scissors. Two out of three. If I won Vincent would top, if she won it would be Dante. Break down of the results: she won once and two ties. Deciding that it wouldn't work I just outright asked my aunt "Crimson or Silver"...

If you want the answer, you're gonna have to wait! And if you're interested in the actual conversation, visit Izzy-Lawliet's profile. This took place last night on YIM so...yeah. Online rock, paper, scissors is epic win!

**Thank Yous:** **_ JiLLiBeanz, Izzy-Lawliet, DarkBombayAngel, Amon2, Haltia_**


	6. Chapter 5

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns FFVII and it's affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc.)

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad, or could it be devil's play?

**A/N:** This is a giftfic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession with both men. This is for her!

* * *

**~*Chapter 5*~**

Watching Dante walk through the bloodbath was a different experience for Vincent. For years, he witnessed many people walking away from him, leaving him in their dust. And with every single one of them—except for AVALANCHE—he felt nothing. If anything, he welcomed the solitude with open arms. But watching the back of that red trench coat dwindle away from him...

It twisted something deep inside so tight that it hurt.

Why?

**'So',** the deep voice resonated through his mind, **'now you understand what I've been saying.'** Crimson eyes saw the diminishing figure of the hunter vanish behind the doors on the other side of the room. Slowly, a gloved hand rested itself over his chest, the steady heartbeat pounding against his chest. Why did it hurt so much?

Why did he want to have the other turn around and come back?

Dante reminded him of Cid; not so much that they were a lot alike, but their attitudes were similar. Feigning indifference to mask any other curiosity, spewing sarcasm and ill-mannered jokes. Although, his language was a bit cleaner than the pilots'. Maybe there was a bit of Cloud in there as well. But there was something special about him that made the ex-Turk think twice.

**'Aren't you the least bit curious about his taste?'** that voice piped up once more, breaking through his thoughts.

"No Chaos," Vincent said quietly, "But I—."

He paused as that thought processed itself in his mind. Did he truly want to go through with that?

**'Do it.'**

The next thing Vincent knew, he was amid the blood bathed room, the heavy scent of metal hitting him full force. He didn't pay it any mind. He didn't realize that he stood in the middle of the pentagram, his metal coverings disturbing the perfectly crafted lines; he didn't see the bright azure light that flashed behind him, nor did he feel the lack of the Lifestream's pulse in the air.

When he exited the rundown house, he was completely oblivious to the knowledge his demonic side realized but didn't voice.

Their doorway had sealed itself shut upon his arrival.

oOo

The next day found Dante sitting in the safe confines of Devil May Cry, reclining at his desk. His feet were propped up on the wooden surface but he wasn't napping. Currently his light-colored eyes were scanning page after page of one of the books he had come across in the strange house the night before. The old pages crinkled as he turned them, mind reeling with information that contradicted almost everything he knew.

The loud ringing of the telephone brought his attention away from the leather-bound book and for a second he stared at the device as if he hadn't seen it before. The shrill noise echoed again and he kicked the receiver with the toe of his boot, catching it easily in one of his hands. The cool plastic rested against his ear and he spoke in a bored tone, "Devil May Cry."

_"From your voice, I'm going to guess that last night was uneventful?"_

Morrison.

"Not exactly. You interrupted me in the middle of a very good book, though."

_"I see. Well, I'm sorry about that. Did you find anything?"_

Shifting so that the book lay face down on the desk and one arm was folded behind his head, he let his eyes drift up to the ceiling, absently counting the rafters.

"Yes and no," he replied, "that line of 'sleeping on it' is complete bullshit, for the record."

_"Really."_ The tone was clipped, indicating for more information.

The half-breed heaved a sigh, brow furrowing in thought.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he mumbled to himself in annoyance. He'd spent over two hours in a steaming shower the night before, scrubbing off the stench of the decay and blood. Even after using almost a full bar of soap he realized that his _clothes_ were in much worse shape and they currently lay on his bathroom floor. So, feeling out of place in a pair of black jeans and a white shirt, he mentally seethed at his agent before he heard the faint amused tone drifting through the phone.

_"I guess my being your cause of death is better than being impaled?"_

Dante didn't even bother to comment. His slate eyes opened narrowly to glare at the top of his desk before he mumbled curses underneath his breath.

Retelling the gruesome sight of the abandoned house was slightly difficult as the images splayed themselves out before him. They were so vivid that he could almost smell the rank odor of the room and he had to pause. But this didn't mean he—the Son of Sparda—was squeamish. Oh hell no! But that much blood would even make the strongest man slightly disgusted.

Luckily, while he was gathering his thoughts and pushing away the bile, he figured Morrison was assuming that he was trying to think.

After the momentary pause, the silver-haired man continued his story. As he spoke about the strange doorway and the large mansion he realized what it all might have sounded like. A child's fantasy, possibly. Or maybe a long lost legend of lovers never destined to cross one another again.

When the hell did he become so poetic?

Nevertheless, as soon as he mentioned the difference his instincts had picked up on, Morrison decided then to speak up.

_"Are you implying that it was a doorway to a completely different world? Like some kind of travel spell?"_ The agents' tone was bewildered but curious all the same.

"That's what Vincent and I gathered," Dante said nonchalantly, nodding once despite knowing his friend couldn't see it.

"It looked like someone was trying to summon something," the hunter mused, his eyes lifting to the ceiling as he reclined back in his chair, "but it went wrong somewhere."

_"Wait,"_ Morrison interrupted, _"who's Vincent?"_

Dante shrugged before replying dismissively, "Just some guy I met over there. Any—."

_"You met someone in that world?"_ Morrison asked in shock. _"Did you think of what the consequences would be by doing such a thing?"_

"Hey," Dante said defensively, sitting up so both of his feet were flat on the floor and his hand lay on the edge of the desk, "it's not a big deal. It's not like we're gonna bump into each other again or his world is gonna crumble."

_"Are you sure? Did you close the gate?"_

The silver-haired man paused, trying to recall last night. He chewed the inside of his cheek absently as the memories played themselves out. He said good-bye to Vincent, then he walked through the door, and—.

"Fuck," he uttered. He was too busy thinking about the brunette and trying to decipher his emotions that he didn't close it down. Even through all that thinking he didn't come up with any answers anyways, so it felt like a waste of time and energy. Not to mention rushing straight to the shower...

Furrowing his brow, he leaned back in his chair again, crossing his ankles underneath the desk and glared at the rafters above him accusingly. He heard a rough sigh on the other end of the phone.

_"Let's hope that if this guy comes through, he won't be any trouble."_

"Pft," the half-breed tsked, smirking as he thought of the other man in his tight-leather and mysterious aura, "I doubt he'll be any trouble. He's a recluse. Besides," his voice brightened vaguely as an idea struck him, "I figured I'd leave it alone and keep an eye on it. I'll go check it out tonight."

_"If that's going to be best,"_ Morrison said resignedly, _"Anything else?"_

"Yeah, actually. I found something that belonged to one of the victims. Obviously a wife and mother to a little boy and her name begins with an 'L'."

_"What's it look like?"_

In the middle of describing the item in question, the sound of the front door latching open made him tear his gaze from the rafters. A small skirted figure shadowed by the sunlight stood there until the door closed behind it. It was a young girl with long curly blonde hair and wide blue eyes. Her skin was fair, looking rather cute in a long dark frilly skirt with a small pink matching top. A pink ribbon was tied in her shining locks and she wore a big grin on her face.

"Dante!" she cried, her high voice carrying through the large room.

"Don't you know how to knock, you brat?" he asked, one gloved hand covering the mouthpiece as he mock frowned.

Her grin formed into a scowl as she crossed her arms and huffed.

"Sorry," he said into the phone, "pest problem showed up again. I gotta take care of it."

Morrison chuckled, _"It's fine. I'll be over soon to pick up what you found and drop off your pay."_

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about," Dante cheered. "Pick up some pizza and sundaes on your way."

_"Fine. Tell the young miss I said hello and I will see you soon."_

"Yep," the hunter quipped before placing the phone back on its cradle. Leaning back in his chair with his book in hand, he looked over at the girl who now sat on the couch, leafing through the magazine on the table with a bored look on her face.

"So where ya been, kid? You haven't been around for awhile. Finally listenin' to what I said?"

"Aw, Dante!" the girl looked up with a sarcastic smile on her face, "did ya miss me?"

"Yeah. I had to clean the other day 'cause you weren't around."

"Poor thing."

He smirked, eyes flitting to the last paragraph he read. "Morrison says 'hi' and he'll be here soon." He looked back over his book to the young blonde who was looking back at the dazzling dresses in the magazine. "So what's new, Patty?"

"Nothin' really," she replied, turning another page. "The orphanage had a field trip to go camping. It was okay. Too many bugs," she made a face.

The brief image of fly clouds ran through the older man's mind and he grimaced.

"I thought I'd come back to find the place burned down or somethin'," she said smugly, casting a wry glance at him. He rose a slender eyebrow before glaring at her.

"Hey. I've been takin' care of myself long before you showed up, ya damn brat."

Patty giggled and he couldn't help but lessen the glare as mirth glittered in his eyes.

"Any 'adult-only parts' while I was gone?"

"Like I'd tell you."

"Aw, c'mon Dante! It's not like I never seen it before!" She threw a pout at him in an attempt to get information, but that only made him shake his head and look back at his book.

"Too bad. This time around, it'd be a part for _old_ people." He paused, trying to find his spot. When he did, he added, "Like Morrison."

"I'm _so_ telling him you said that!"

"Yeah, you do that, kid." He flipped a page in the book, the only sign indicating it to be the end of the conversation.

oOo

An hour and many taunts between them later, the front door opened to show Morrison carrying three thin boxes, a plastic shopping bag, and a leather briefcase. Steel eyes lifted up from the yellowed pages, the train of thought he had disappearing.

"Morrison!" Patty cried, jumping to her feet as her face lifted with the large smile she expressed.

"Hello, Miss Patty," he said politely with a smile as he walked towards the small coffee table and set the boxes on its surface.

"Could you do me a favor and put this in the ice chest upstairs?"

She nodded and took the plastic bag from his grasp, bounce in her step as she disappeared up the stairs.

The teasing scent of warm bread, tomato sauce, cheese, peppers, onions, and meat wafted into the air. A smile broke out on the hunters' face at the delicious aroma.

"Ya know," he said as he placed the book face down on the desk and rose to his feet, "you'd make an awesome delivery boy. Service with a smile."

The brunette glared at Dante over his shoulder before rising to an upright position, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. When the half-breed reached the table, he feigned a look of hurt while he grabbed a slice of pizza from one of the boxes.

"Fine," he said dejectedly, "I guess I'll have to throw out that leather number I bought just for you."

"Leather?" Morrison asked skeptically as the silver-haired man finished the slice so quickly it almost looked like he'd bitten a finger off. Smiling maliciously, Dante took a box and padded back to his desk with Morrison in tow. Just as he sat down, hurried tiny footsteps sounded from the staircase.

Patty emerged from the doorway only to beeline over to the brunette and hug him tightly around the waist. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the other motioning to the other boxes and with a tiny squeal she raced towards the food. Dante finished his fourth slice a little slower than before and shot a glance at his agent.

"Yeah, leather. You think people are gonna buy stuff if you dress like an old man?" the half-demon quipped once he swallowed his mouthful, already reaching for another slice while his other hand picked up the book again.

"Keep that up and I'll start to wonder if you're a D/s kind of guy," Morrison deadpanned while grabbing a slice for himself which earned him a half-hearted glare.

"What if I already am?" Dante asked, eyes peering at the books' pages once more. "You wanna give it a go?"

"No thank you, I prefer women and topping. We shouldn't be—."

"Dante, you've been reading that silly book all day!" Patty's voice interrupted their conversation, drawing Morrison's eyes to the young girl with tomato sauce smeared on the corner of her mouth.

"So?" the hunter questioned, turning the page with his thumb. "It's interesting." Tiny heel clicked padded towards the pair until they stopped at his side. Slate eyes slid over to peer at the young girl's face, full of curiosity and wonder as she tried to look at the words.

"What's it about?"

"Noth—."

The book was plucked out of his hands and he turned to see his agent looking at the spine with interest. His eyebrows rose as he flipped to look at the cover then the back.

"Mako? What is that supposed to be?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Dante replied in annoyance, hand outstretched with the palm facing up. When the small book returned to him, he found his spot and mumbled curses underneath his breath.

"The locket's in the drawer," he said flippantly, back to reading once more.

Morrison opened the topmost drawer on the left hand side of the desk and pulled out the blood stained jewelry. The faint sound of the opening latch caught the hunters' ears but he didn't pay it any mind. The book began to absorb his attention again, revealing the confusing theories and equations for adding Mako with human DNA.

Now Dante wasn't one for science, but what the hell. This thing was full of stuff he'd never heard of! But a sudden train of thought spilled itself out of his mouth as he turned a page.

"Hey, Morrison. Did I mention to you that the weird house didn't have a single bathroom in it?"

He didn't see the confusion written on the brunettes' face, nor the bright blue eyes of Patty Lowell grow wide with amazement.

"No bathrooms at all?" she asked incredulously just as the agent shook his head and uttered, "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Dante smiled in amusement, biting back a chuckle as he continued to read.

"It doesn't," was all he said.

The silence that stretched out through the room was thoughtful and wonderful. The silver-haired man couldn't help but cheer internally at his success for bliss as he took the last slice of pizza from the box and devoured it quickly.

0o0

**A/N:** I'm _so_ sorry about the late update! I've got a bunch of different projects going on all at once and they're all demanding the same amount of attention! It's like having a bunch of screaming children...wonder where I put my duct-tape? :searches for it:

Erm...:cough: Anyways! A bit of a plot and a filler all rolled into one! Keep an eye out for the next one!

**Thank yous:** **_Izzy-Lawliet, Amon2, Haltia, DarkBombayAngel, JiLLiBeanz, Johnswinona_**


	7. Chapter 6

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc).

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find each other, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N:** This is a giftfic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession for both men. This is for her!

* * *

_'This place is strange,'_ the raven-haired man thought as he carefully maneuvered through the dark alleyways. Buildings of all sorts towered over him, casting their shadows over the sidewalks. The air had a faint unpleasant smell, like too many cars in a small space; completely opposite of his home.

He'd been wandering around all night and by the looks of the sun, most of the day as well. The muscles in his legs were quivering with overuse and exhaustion, but he pressed on. Night was rapidly approaching and memories of his travels with AVALANCHE—the familiar ache in the limbs, the fatigue, the wounds—gave him a sense of vague longing. But he pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the here and now.

Vincent vaguely wondered exactly what he was going to say to Dante once he found him. Once that thought crossed his mind, he held onto it. He knew he couldn't just show up and say, 'Hey, Dante. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd visit. By the way, I don't know what happened but I had to follow you.' No, that wouldn't do at all. He fought back a sigh as his red eyes looked around the alley, bypassing the neatly piled empty boxes and trash-filled dumpsters.

Hours earlier he had noticed the lack of the heartbeat belonging to the Lifestream. As soon as he realized it, dark chuckling snaked into his mind. Chaos knew something but wasn't talking. The entity would shove that knowledge into his face before clamming up in amusement. The brunette decided to just ignore the taunts and focus on what to do next. He hadn't done something this reckless before, he was one for planning everything beforehand.

Being impulsive was Cid's job and the pilot did it well.

At the thought of the rowdy blond pilot, a wistful smile was playing itself on his lips as he walked along the graveled alley. A few steps forward made him pause once more, his foot having tread on something uneven to the ground underneath. When he moved his foot, he saw a dirty brown wallet laying there harmlessly, like a gift sent from the Gods.

Reaching down, he picked it up and examined it, turning it over before opening it to expose what he assumed to be cash and some plastic, an identification card in the middle. His crimson eyes shifted around to see if he could spot the owner anywhere nearby, but he was alone.

It were times like these that he was grateful to have been a Turk as he stored the money in one of the many pockets in his cloak. Carelessly, he discarded the leather to the side, figuring it would be easier to navigate in this unknown town with money he'd never seen or knew how to count.

Wonderful.

**'Resorting to stealing like a lowlife,'**Chaos chided in his mind, relishing in the vague spark of guilt his host felt. But the amusement faded when Vincent justified his actions when it came to his survival. The sounds of passing engines caught the ex-Turk's attention, making him shift his gaze to the opposite side of the alleyway and he crossed the couple of steps to the outer edge effortlessly.

The alleyway opened up to a cobblestone street littered with parked cars and the occasional citizen walking along the sidewalks. But what caught his gaze was the tiny building across the street from him. It had large windows that revealed the dining booths and tables within, a bar sat at the farthest wall of the diner and he could see a couple of hunched forms on the stools.

The thought of a drink sounded very appealing and he sauntered towards the double glass doors—checking the street for oncoming traffic—and made his way inside. When those doors opened, the rush of air-conditioning shocked the ex-Turk momentarily but was soon replaced with relief. The smell of homemade meals and dinner spices wafted into the air pleasantly, a welcoming feeling running through his veins as he made his way to a booth in the back.

He flicked the back of his cloak outwards as he took a seat, automatically crossing his ankles underneath the table. He knew he was attracting attention, the bars' inhabitants' gazes on him sticking like glue, but he just let his leather gloved hand hold his chin in its palm as he leaned against the tabletop, stone gaze shifting to the window, watching the outside world.

The sound of roller skates on the linoleum floor brought his gaze over to a brunette girl wearing a short frilly dress, a teal star painted below the corner of one of her brown eyes. If she was fazed by his appearance, she didn't comment and her smile was sweet.

"What can I get for ya, handsome?"

He didn't verbally acknowledge the endearment, but his brows shifted minutely to house confusion. Now that he thought about it, what exactly did he want? Furthermore, what did they have to offer, anyways?

"What drinks do you have available, ma'am?" he asked quietly, attempting to keep his naiveté hidden. The last thing he wanted was to expose himself as a newcomer so soon—not until he found what he came for.

The young waitress rattled off all the kinds of beverages, from water to soda to milkshakes to coffee. After a few moments of thought, he decided on water. As soon as he made his choice, she skated off with a wink and a mock two-finger salute. When she left, Vincent turned his attention back outside and was lost in his thoughts.

This strange town was similar to what Nibelheim was before Sephiroth demolished it in his beginnings of insanity; small but lively. Although, this place was much bigger but that was besides the point. Now that he actually had a chance to sit and ponder, he took the time to replay the previous hours since his arrival.

The ex-Turk thought back to the flash of light he carelessly ignored in his haste to follow the silver-haired man. The same flash occurred when Dante waltzed through the doorway, but at a gentler capacity. Did that possibly mean—?

_'No,'_ he thought darkly, immediately pushing that train of thought aside. _'It's not possible.'_ But the only sound that either confirmed or denied his unfinished thought was dark laughter. Heaving a quiet sigh, his thoughts turned to his other discoveries.

The lack of the Lifestreams' pulse had alarmed him at first, confusing him. He knew Gaia couldn't survive—let alone house so many living beings—without it. So how did this planet thrive so well? Did they have something like it to keep things running? But he didn't feel anything in the atmosphere at all. Would his Materia and potions work here? He'd have to experiment with it later. Did they have wandering monsters outside of town?

He secretly prayed to whatever deity that was flourishing in this place that Tonberries didn't exist here. They are some nasty bastards to deal with. Who knew kitchen knives could deal so much damage?

The sound of a glass clinking on the table top brought him away from the pressing questions to look at the young waitress who returned. A tall clear glass of ice water, filled to the brim, was set in front of him, beads of condensation already gathering to slide down the outside.

When his crimson eyes shifted from the beverage to the young girl, she flashed him a bright smile—a rather Yuffie-like smile—exposing her white teeth framed by cherry red lips. He nodded his thanks to her and leaned back so his gloved hand could hold the glass.

"Ya know," she began as he sipped the cold drink, "you remind me of someone." Her smile dimmed to half its brightness, a single manicured finger tapping at her chin as she seemed to be lost in thought. He mentally sighed as he decided that he would have to explain _something_ to the poor girl so she wouldn't hurt herself—or alarm anyone else into thinking that he might be suspicious.

"I'm just passing through," he lied smoothly, like it was second nature to him.

Well, he _was _a Turk at one point in his life. For them, lying was just like breathing—a life-long habit and a necessary survival skill.

"Oh? Well there's not much here," she said dismissively, her hands crossing over the circular tray pressed against her ample breasts, fingers curling loosely at the top curve. "But as long as you're here, enjoy yourself, yeah?"

"Star!"**(1)**

At the sound of the call, the brunette turned her head over her shoulder and called back, "Coming!"

She turned her attention back to Vincent and flashed him another smile that lit up her face, "If you need anything, just holler," and with that she skated off to serve another customer.

The ex-Turk took another gulp of his drink, the soothing cold liquid running down his throat, quenching his thirst with every drop. When half of the beverage was gone, he set the glass down gently and returned to his thoughts.

**(2)**If the Lifestream didn't exist in this world, then it was possible that Materia would be useless. But, if that's true, then wouldn't Mako be non-existent as well? And if Mako was false in this world...wouldn't _he_ have some kind of difficulty living here? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, at least where his health was concerned. Shiva, all of these unanswered questions were giving him a headache.

Or maybe it was Chaos' incessant laughter that was causing it.

Either way, it was _very _uncomfortable.

The sound of a tinkling bell broke through his thoughts and he shifted those crimson eyes over to the front door just in time to see a brunette man with a busy mustache walk in. His attire made the ex-Turk think of Rufus ShinRa and his classy taste.

The thought of the young President made him frown behind his high cloak collar. The young blond may have been trying to fix what the ShinRa Electric Company destroyed, but it would be awhile before Gaia would forgive him.

"Hey, Morrison! What can we get ya?" Star asked, now leaning gleefully against the bar, flashing the newcomer her hundred-watt smile.

"Oh, the usual," was the smooth reply.

Vincent tuned out the rest of the conversation, but kept his eyes—still trained on this 'Morrison'—veiled behind his black locks. Something inside of him nagged at him to keep an eye on the new arrival. The two at the bar were talking in a friendly manner, but as to what about, he really didn't care. He finished off his drink and fished the stolen money out of his pocket.

Looking at the green-tinted paper that felt like cotton, he deduced that the numbers on the corners had to be the amounts.**(3)**

If the numbers meant the same here as they did back home, then a one-hundred piece of paper should suffice for a glass of water, right?

"Thanks, Star. Just put it on Dante's tab."

_Dante?_

The name—one of those that sounded sinfully exotic—rang into the air and caught the ex-Turk's attention. He watched the brunette—Morrison—make his way outside with a plastic shopping bag in his hands.

That man knew Dante!

Before he could think on it any further, he laid the one-hundred note on the table and—trying not to move too urgently—he left without a word. If this guy knew Dante, perhaps he could tail him for awhile and hopefully find the silver-haired man.

Just thinking about the gorgeous hunter man him smile vaguely behind his high collared cloak as he walked out into the fading sunlight and began his trailings by the rooftops.

Oh yes, this would be worth it.

oOo

Night had quickly fallen at Devil May Cry, the sheer black curtains giving the foyer an eerie but calming presence. It had only been a couple of hours since he went to fulfill his promise to his agent, only to come straight back when he discovered that the carnage had footprints that had destroyed parts of the pentagram and demonic letters. He knew he hadn't done it and there hadn't been any other footprints leading from the front door or anywhere else in the vicinity, which would only mean one of two things...

Either Vincent—or something else—came though the doorway, or some homeless guy with a blood fetish partied there.

He shuddered at that second thought.

A soon as he returned, he went to the second floor—his living quarters that consisted of two bedrooms, and a bathroom/laundry room—and took a shower, mentally seething at the situation. Morrison was going to have his head for his carelessness. He'd ask in rhetorical questions what made Dante so forgetful and reckless. Of course, Dante knew the answer but did he want to admit that his thoughts had been elsewhere and focused on an amazingly sexy man that he'd never see again?

Did he have a death wish? He didn't think so...

Others would say differently, though.

The heat of the shower as he stood underneath the heavy stream soothed his muscles and melted his agitation bit by bit. Minutes passed as he stood there, hands braced against the white tiled walls with his head bent, silver hair dripping past his face. With a sigh, he pushed himself off the wall and washed his hair with the scent of rosemary oils Patty insisted he used—said it brought the color of his hair out more.

Like he needed that. But it smelled nice, so her point was null and void.

He quickly washed his body, the scent of fresh spring rain filling the moderate sized white bathroom. Turning the water off, he stepped out and toweled himself dry, resolving to inform Morrison tomorrow. But for now, all he wanted was to relax, maybe read more on this 'Mako' business before he went to sleep.

So ten minutes later, the half-breed stood in a room that was built above the front doors, so the far wall had a large bay window over-looking the city. A dark oak dresser stood against the wall in front of the door that was in the far right corner, a large white fur rug taking up the majority of the wooden floor and disappearing underneath the edge of a queen-sized bed. The comfortable looking bed was covered with deep wine colored sheets and matching pillows with gold lining. A deep redwood trunk sat at the end of the bed, a black leather couch against the large windows with bookshelves around it.

He barely registered his cloth guitar case leaning against the wall between the wall and the trunk with Ebony and Ivory in their holsters around the neck, his signature red trench coat hanging off of a small hook on the wall right next to the door.

The room was rather homey, comfortably bare of any personal items except for what was on his dresser. He smiled to himself, now dressed in loosely fitting black sweats and a white towel over his shoulders. Upon passing the dresser, he switched on the stereo that sat on top of it. Its sleek black and silver exterior was high-tech and revealed the multi-disc player that sat proudly between two large speakers. Guitars and drums pours from them in an upbeat rhythm, causing him to bob his head, droplets of water splashing against his pale chest.

Dante flopped onto the mattress with a satisfied groan, his arms folding behind his head automatically. Steel eyes stared at the ceiling in a bored manner, mouth moving in time with the words absently as his mind wandered.

_**'You roll the dice**_

_**Release my hell'**_**(4)**

Why would Vincent want to follow him?: The guy was a recluse—a sexy recluse, but a recluse nonetheless. A small grin played itself on his lips at the image of the brunette. Oh yeah—definitely a looker. The silver-haired man briefly wondered if Vincent was gay but dismissed that thought immediately. He'd never see him again; no use of obsessing over something like that.

_**'To me you're not he only one**_

_**To feel redemption.'**_**(4)**

He sighed, closing his eyes. The music faded away to background noise, his breathing was deep and even. Images and thoughts filtered through his mind effortlessly, but too quick to give names or titles to. Crimson eyes and black hair, a room bathed in blood, dark maniacal laughter; so many things that he recognized and didn't shy away from.

The music faded to silence when the song ended, the edges of sleep grasping him only to let go at the familiar sound of a 'thud' coming from the first floor. He rose a slender eyebrow without opening his eyes.

_'The hell does he want now?'_ Dante thought, already moving to go downstairs. If Morrison was here at this time of night, that didn't merit to anything good if possible. The floor boards underneath his bare feet creaked as he walked down the dim hallway. And in no time, he reached the stairs and began to descend.

Halfway down the stairs, he lazily ran the towel over his head in an attempt to dry his damp hair.

"Ya know, I know you can't get enough of me, Morrison, but this is ridiculous," he called, hiding his annoyance with sarcasm. He reached the bottom of the staircase and looked up over the edge of the dampened towel, expecting to see his agent standing with his well-ironed suit and unlit cigarette between his lips. Slate eyes widened in disbelief and surprise at what he found instead.

Crimson cloak and dark as night hair was the first thing he saw. But all that left his mouth was:

"What thehell are _you_ doing here?"

0o0

**(1):** I can't remember the girls' actual name in the anime and I'm too lazy to go through the episodes to find it, so we'll stick with this one. Besides, I kinda like this time. It's all mystical and stuffs!

**(2):** I just made this stuff up as I went along. I don't know what's true, but I tried to keep it as accurate as I could. I never finished playing FFVII so if something is incorrect, I apologize...but I'm not fixing it! :P AU ftw!

**(3):** I live in America. And in America, our currency is the US Dollar. I have no idea where DMC (the anime) takes place, thus I don't have a clue what currency they use. From what I saw, the money I've seen looks like the US Dollar, and because I'm used to working with that, I'll be using that as currency.

**(4):** Lovex owns the lyrics. "Bullet For The Pain".

**A/N:** I am so sorry this update came later than expected. This past Friday (it was almost done by then) I had to go to the emergency room for pain control. I had a pain crisis and sat in the ER for seven hours until they could give me something and send me home. And then I slept almost all of Saturday (I didn't get to sleep til 4 AM on Saturday and didn't wake up until 10 PM that night) so I worked on it and finally got it done.

I hope it's satisfactory and the next chapter is in the works! Don't kill me! Er...wait...yes, please do! With a bazooka to the face! . :coughs: Anyways...yeah. Enjoy!

Dante: ...

Vincent...

Yoshi: What? :raises her eyebrows:

Dante: You're nuts, chick.

Vincent: ...

Yoshi: Well, yeah. Isn't the fact that I'm writing a fic about you both enough proof?

Dante: ...Well...

Vincent: As long as I'm not bottom, we're fine.

Dante: Excuse me?! :looks at Vincent and glares:

Vincent: :stares at Dante with a blank expression:

Yoshi:... :sighs: Don't make me get the paddles, boys.

Dante/Vincent: Eep!

Chaos: **:laughing: Ha! She's got you guys whipped!**

**Thank Yous: _Izzy-Lawliet, Amon2, Haltia, Johnswinona, DarkBombayAngel, JiLLiBeanz_**


	8. Chapter 7

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** DantexVincent

**Warning(s):** Crossover, AU, slight-OOC, angst, language, lemon, lime, yaoi, violence, gore

**Disclaimer:** Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot and all OCs (characters, places, etc).

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find each other, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N:** This is a giftfic for an R/L friend of mine who has an obsession with both men. This is for her!

* * *

**~*Chapter 7*~**

Silence spread through the dark room, the only light coming from the streetlamps, the curtains dimming it to an almost gray appearance. Steel bore into crimson, surprise clashing with serenity. Blindly, Dante felt for the light switch by the doorway he stood in. When his fingers found purchase, dull lights bathed the room to expose the stranger in his home.

In the middle of the room, Vincent stood in all of his glory with his arms cross loosely, red cloak covering his lithe body like a veil. He looked almost upset in posture, but the light that danced in his eyes was neutral and emotionless.

"Apparently," Vincent said quietly, tone borderline amused, "I'm standing here."

"Obviously," Dante replied, wrapping the towel around his shoulders as he smirked. Saying he was happy to see the brunette was putting it lightly. He was ecstatic! Just earlier he had resolved to forget the brunette he wouldn't—ever—see—again...

...wait a minute.

"What are you doing out of your box?" the silver-haired man asked mockingly like one would scold a child, crossing his own arms loosely against his bare chest, the smirk falling away to a blank expression except for a raised eyebrow. They never dropped eye contact and silence spread through the room, letting the question hang in the air. Dante narrowed his eyes and frowned vaguely. So they were back to this?

God damn it.

The half-breed huffed a breath in annoyance. This was _not_ how he wanted to spend his night. He thought they were past the 'one-sided conversations' at this point! Taking a few steps to the side, he leaned against the doorway with his lower back, eyes closing, head bowed to the floor in contemplation. He had to get some answers!

He could hear the gentle rustling of cloth mixed with the tinkling of metal against wood. The footfalls moved to the left side of the room and halted. His heightened hearing caught the very faint tones of music drifting from his room upstairs.

Slowly, his mind wandered to earlier in the night. As his eyes slid open the pieces clicked together. He saw the bloodied mess in his mind, complete with footprints and scuffed chalk. With the circle disfigured, the elemental properties were disjointed and no longer channeling properly. As a result, the doorway had sealed itself.**(1)**

So that would mean...

"You're stuck here, aren't ya?"

Vincent, who had been examining the antique billiards table with his arms hidden in that large cloak of his, looked over his shoulder at the half-breed, crimson eyes veiled by loose strands of his hair. Dante fought to keep his smirk hidden. If that didn't get him an affirmative answer, he didn't know what would!

The brunette looked like he was caught like a deer in headlights, from the way those shoulders tensed and his breath hitched ever so slightly. But he didn't say a word in response.

But the Devil Hunter wanted him to admit it...

...very perverse, really.

Seconds passed as the hunter watched his guest slowly relax. Vincent turned so he fully faced the silver-haired man, arms crossed loosely once more as he tilted his chin up, eyes looking towards the exposed rafters above him.

"It seems so," the ex-Turk finally stated, tone betraying nothing but fact. Their gazes met and Dante just sighed heavily, faking his discomfort.

"Well," he said, turning his head to pop his neck, "since I'm such a nice guy, I'll let ya stay here—since, ya know, you're new in town and don't have anywhere to go, and all." A smirk played upon his lips as he rolled his shoulders, earning himself a rather loud 'crack'. He bit back a groan of relief and bent his head back, eyes closed to revel in the relieved tension on his joints just for a few moments.

"I don't bite," he added as an afterthought, not moving his head as he talked, "unless you're into that."

When he received no answer, he lifted his head back up to look at Vincent who looked like he was trying to solve the most difficult algorithm. Those bright crimson eyes reflecting the light, crinkles in those pale cheeks indicating a frown—damn! When he did speak, it was hesitant—almost shy, if it were anyone else.

"If it isn't any trouble."

Dante shrugged lazily, "Sure, I got the room for it. But in return, you gotta pull your weight."

He turned towards the stairs and began to climb them, one hand sliding the damp towel off of his shoulders, leaving Vincent in the foyer to stare after him. He paused in mid stride half-way up the steep stairs to call back:

"Hey! You comin' or what?"

He didn't move until he heard footsteps, calm and even, sound from the foyer—accompanied by the small click of the switch—and up the stairs towards him. As they walked up the tiny staircase, Vincent's voice cut through the silence.

"What is expected of me?"

They reached the dim hallway, the boards occasionally creaking under their weight. The half-breed looked over his shoulder at the brunette and smirked, steel eyes glowing with mirth.

"Don't worry about it tonight," was all he said before giving the quick tour of his loft. Upon reaching the end of the passage, the Son of Sparda pointed to the door next to his.

"There ya go. You need anything to sleep in?" Vincent merely shook his head in the negative.

"Alright then, I'll leave ya with a few warnings. First, beware of the evil presence that resides in there. Two," the silver-haired man held up two fingers in a peace sign to count, "I usually get visits from a blonde midget with the attention span of a gnat on LSD, so I suggest you keep your valuables hidden and weapons out of reach, or else you'll get a million and three questions. And three," he held up another finger, the smirk back in full play, "we _do_ have a bathroom here. All I ask is that you replace the toilet paper if you use the last of it. And don't keep your dirty clothes on the floor."

Vincent's only response was to raise an eyebrow elegantly at Dante, who now was fully facing him, hands shoved into the pockets of his sleep pants. His smile lessened to just a vague up turn of his lips.

"Sleep well," Dante said softly, almost fondly, before turning to step into his own bedroom, closing the door behind him and muffling the already low rock music. Crimson eyes stared at the door for a moment, confused as to the odd conversation that just took place.

An evil presence in the room. What could that mean? If it was a monster of some kind, he could surely take care of it easily. As for a blonde midget, he wondered if this 'midget' was actually vertically challenged or just a child. The third 'warning' made him vaguely frown.

What was with this guy and restrooms?

Repressing a sigh, his fatigue caught up with him at the notion of rest. Vincent turned his drooping lids towards the neighboring door, eying the piece of wood like it offended him. It was just a plain door—why was he being so hesitant?

It's just a bedroom, for Shiva's sake!

Slowly, he turned the cool brass knob, pushing the door open. A light creak was the only sound on the second floor from the hinges, the dim light in the hallway barely giving definition to the many silhouetted shapes through out the adequate space. Relief from an unknown source washed over him as he stood in the doorway.

See? Dante obviously didn't know what he was talking about.

He stepped inside, letting his gloved hand slide over the wall on his right side. When his fingers found the light switch, the brightness of the light temporarily blinded him when he flicked it. Blinking wildly, the ex-Turk tried to fight the sting in his eyes. When his sight finally cleared up, he had to use every ounce of self-control not to scream.

There was no way on Gaia's green earth that he—Vincent Valentine, respected AVALANCHE member and ex-Turk—would sleep here.

_Pink._

Everything—was—_pink._

Pink is the epitome of the devil with Jenova cells.

Pink bedsheets, teddy bears, furniture—the mess was everywhere! Just standing in the doorway was making him uneasy. In a robotic fashion, his hand—still on the wall—flipped the light off and backed out of the room slowly, eyes wide.

That couch he saw earlier looked rather comfortable at the moment.

oOo

The morning light came streaming through the windows of Devil May Cry with a positive energy, despite its gloomy curtained filter. Chirping birds sang sweetly to the heavens, almost joyously proud in their melodies. Another blissfully beautiful day in the suburban town.

Slate eyes stared at the ceiling in contemplation.

The half-breed had been awake for many hours now, his mind reeling with the knowledge of the strange man in his home—currently showering in his bathroom...

...right next door—naked, soapy, and possibly enjoying himself.

Well, shit.

He knew his guest had no clothes to change into and had hesitantly agreed to borrowing some so Dante could wash them.

That was over five minutes ago.

With a sight, the demon hunter walked out of his bedroom with the intention of brewing some coffee. Dressed in casual dark blue jeans and a tight black tee, his white socked feet padded down the short hallway and past the staircase, pushing through a wooden swinging door.

Behind the door was a tiny kitchen equipped with the bare essentials; a chrome electric stove, a matching two door refrigerator, and dark oak cabinets with matching counters. The hardwood floor was slick underneath his feet as he moved to one of the counter tops, pouring grounds into the black and silver coffee machine.

He worked diligently, washing out the glass pot and then filling it with water. As he turned the machine on after emptying the container into it and placing it back on the burner, changing the small light from red to green, before leaning back against one of the counters, arms crossed as he patiently waited.

Not twelve hours ago, he had decided Fate was a teasing bitch that took jokes too far, but Fate just had to take that extra step over the line, didn't she? Vincent had shown up in his home—how he had maneuvered his way across town in such a short time, he didn't know—and practically looked like a lost puppy.

Oh, how that just seemed appropriate, despite his appearance not looking the least bit ruffled.

Dante had woken before dawn, like always, and padded his way downstairs. His mind was focused on checking out the foyer as per his daily ritual, only to find a sexy brunette curled up on the couch, dead to the world.

He stopped dead in his steps, slate eyes staring at the prone form of Vincent stretched out lazily on the couch, red cloak cradling his limp form like a comforting blanket. Dark lashes caressed pale cheeks, serenity bathing the skin in such a beautiful way that it left the half-breed confused. Why was this man here?

It took him a moment to realize that the ex-Turk wasn't a hallucination and stood there in the doorway for a moment, just watching him sleep. The peaceful expression on the mans' face would be forever etched into his mind.

He shook himself out of his reverie when the thought of how creepy he must seem at the moment, staring at some guy he barely knew who happened to be sleeping on his couch like a peeping-tom pervert or something, and made his way back upstairs to shower.

Needless to say it was a rather cold one.

The scent of java filled the air and the Son of Sparda closed his eyes in bliss. Ah, that smell would _never_ get old! And for a fleeting moment, he wondered if Vincent had his own personal scent; did he use cologne, or just let his clothes and gunpowder waft off of him?

The running water shut off, leaving a ringing silence in its stead. The half-breed opened his eyes in response just as three light beeps resounded in the small room. His gaze settled on the coffee machine, seeing that the light had returned to being red, and he pushed himself off of the counter behind him.

He brought down two coffee mugs, one blue and one green, and placed them on the counter top with a subtle click. Taking the hot glass pot from its perch, he poured the steaming liquid into the cups. But it wasn't until after the second cup was filled that he realized he wasn't even sure if the ex-Turk drank coffee.

Did they even have it where he came from?

"Pft, if he doesn't like it he better speak up," Dante muttered to himself, already figuring that he'd have to go out and get food the brunette would be willing to consume. He knew that pretty much no one else enjoyed living off of pizza and strawberry sundaes, and the looks other people would shoot him when he finished an extra large pizza in less that five minutes always made him chuckle inwardly.

He ignored the sound of the silent predatory footsteps coming toward the small kitchen while he pulled out some milk, sugar, and a silver spoon.

The swinging door creaked as it opened slowly, revealing Vincent standing in the doorway, a look of wariness and determination in his gaze. The half-breed looked up from preparing the breakfast beverages to take in the appearance of the other man.

Dampened black hair, still spiked despite the moisture, fell around shoulders clothed in a white long-sleeved dress shirt that was slightly bigger than what he was used to. He wore his black leather gloves, but the claw was no where to be seen. The cuffs of the shirt sleeves came over his palms slightly, adding a childish look to the grown man.

The black jeans on his hips were snug, but not as much as the leather, Dante noted. The dark blue towel was placed lazily on the right side of his head, his hand holding it up in mid-rub. Their eyes met in the silence that spread, both men just watching one another like one would watch a baseball game. The devil hunter was the first to speak, a small smile on his face.

"Enjoy yourself?" his tone was teasing, as if suspecting his guest of private actions.

"Yes, actually," was the calm reply, revealing nothing as the towel resuming its passing through his hair.

"Clothes fit okay?" the smile faded as Dante poured some milk into the jade glass, before reaching for the obsidian ceramic sugar container.

"Yes, thank you."

"Sure," came the dismissive reply. Opening the small gold painted latch, he pulled out the small spoon from inside and began scooping sugar at least six times before replacing it and using the silver one to stir his drink.

"Oh, I wasn't sure if ya like coffee—or anything else, really—but I made ya some." Slate eyes looked up from the cup to peer at the brunette to see those ruby eyes had taken on a shine of want at the mention of caffeine.

_'Too bad that look isn't for you,'_ a voice piped up in the back of his mind and he bit back a sigh. It was true, but he didn't need to think about that.

"How do you want your cup?" he asked, sliding his mug to side so as to prepare the other. Wordlessly, the brunette maneuvered into the small room and slid behind the silver-haired man, stomach flush against back, before slinking to the other side and picking up the mug.

Dante froze at the contact, snapping his head up to stare unseeingly at the cabinet in front of him, trying to restart his heart and mind. The body heat that spread over him in that instant was something he'd never imagined; fire, electric, pain, pleasure—every nerve-ending at attention, leaving him wanting more but dreading it at the same time.

"Excuse me," the soft spoken statement, followed by the gentle scraping of ceramic against the counter, brought those slate eyes over to his guest. The ex-Turk had the thick cup in both hands in a grip crossed between cradling and a death grip, his lips already on the edge to sip the hot liquid.

Dante just stood there, speechless, watching Vincent's eyes slide shut in bliss. The silence that stretched out in the small kitchen felt strained to the Devil Hunter, only being interrupted by the heavy thudding of his heart in his ears. Just watching the brunette with that vaguely content expression on his face...

...this guy _really_ didn't know what he was doing, did he?

When Vincent opened his eyes, their gazes locked and for a split second, Dante thought of himself like a child being caught in the cookie jar, but other than pure emotion, his mind had stopped. Those eyes that glimmered in the fluorescent light had a look that bordered on demonic—glowing and dark. They were also more alert than they had been earlier, holding some sort of smugness at having the small liquid boost.

And all Dante could do was sit there, locked in his position, staring at a very gorgeous Vincent. Neither heard the loud creak of the door opening downstairs, nor the small patter of feet in the foyer. They didn't even realize they were barely breathing until...

"Dante! You better not be sleeping, still!"

Both men flinched at the little girls' screech that reverberated off of the walls on the bottom floor and rang up the stairs. The spell was broken; the Son of Sparda now half-way through the door, mug in hand.

"Oh boy," he sighed in mock exasperation, pushing the door open only to pause halfway through to look over his shoulder at Vincent who looked confused, shocked, and—was that disappointment?—all at once.

"Well," Dante piped up, showing no indication of his racing heart or mushed thoughts, "might as well show you the midget. I'll have a place set up for your stuff."

And with that, the silver-haired man disappeared out of the tiny kitchen.

"Dante! Don't make me come up there!"

Vincent followed, ears ringing vaguely.

0o0

**(1): **In Wicca, a circle represents (in layman's terms) a "safety bubble" to cast prayer. So, I'm guessing that this would have the same properties... No, that doesn't mean summon spells exist, because they don't.

**A/N:** :whimpers: I'm _so_ sorry that this is so late! I kinda lacked a bit of motivation for awhile, and then my grandfather passed away so I had to take a twenty-seven hour car trip up to Massachusetts, stay there for a few days, and then come home. Meaning, I had little to no time to write anything, and when I did I had to rewrite it because I could read anything! :grumbles: Stupid car trips...

Dante: Twenty-seven hours? :eyes wide:

Vincent: My condolences. :pats Yoshi on the head:

Yoshimara: :sighs: Thank you, Vincent. A very trying weekend, indeed.

Vincent: I just have one question...

Yoshimara: Hm?

Vincent: ...Did you have to make that bedroom pink? :shudders:

Yoshimara: :cringes: I didn't want to! Really! I'm so sorry! :drops to her knees and bows at Vincent's feet:

Dante: Pft, told ya there's an evil presence in there! :grins:

**Thank yous:** _Izzy-Lawliet, Haltia, DarkBombayAngel, JiLLiBeanz, Johnswinona, I'm Your Nobody_


	9. Chapter 8

**Title:** Crimson & Silver

**Author:** Yoshimara (slavetosuicide)

**Rating:** M

**Pairing(s):** Dante x Vincent

**Warning(s):** angst, AU, coarse language, crossover, gore, lemon, lime, possible OOC, possible spoilers, shounen-ai, slight bashing!Patty, violence, yaoi

**Disclaimer:** Capcom owns Devil May Cry and its affiliates. Square Enix owns Final Fantasy VII and its affiliates. Yoshimara (slavetosuicide) owns the plot as well as any and all OCs (original characters, places, etc.) unless otherwise specified. Any usage of Devil May Cry and Final Fantasy VII are strictly for entertainment purposes only. No profit is gained from this product. Unauthorized uses (i.e. copying, quoting, etc.) is prohibited and proper action will be taken against any and all violations to these terms.

**Summary:** Two worlds connected. Two men find one another, but know they cannot be together. Is this the work of a scientist gone mad or could it be devil's play?

**A/N:** I am SO sorry, everyone, for the very late update! I've had so much going on, with moving back home last year and then spending that entire year trying to fix things with my back and get things sorted out in my head. I lost the will the write, and during that time I received quite a few comments from avid readers, wanting to know if this story will be continued. Well, guess what? I will continue it now! I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to get there and I want to thank every one of you for your patience. Please enjoy this newest installment of Crimson & Silver!

* * *

**~*Chapter 8*~**

"Dante!"

"What, Patty?" the silver-haired man asked, descending the last couple of steps leading to the foyer. Patty sat at Dante's desk, twirling slowly in his chair, feet dangling. Her boy-like clothes gave off a rugged appearance despite her girlish face.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, glaring at the older man, "I've been waiting forever! You always sleep too much."

"Yeah, well, will my job, sleep isn't exactly part of the description," he replied, easily moving the young girl out of his seat and proceeded to recline in said seat, cradling the steaming mug possessively.

"You promised we'd go shopping today!" Patty whined, stomping her foot while crossing her little arms over her chest with her bottom lip jutting out cutely. There was once a time when the Son of Sparda would have fallen to that adorable action.

Not today.

"Somethin' came up, Patty," Dante merely said as the faint sound of approaching footsteps from above thudded minutely. "I'll take you as soon as I can, but right now promise me you won't go nuts."

Just as he finished speaking, Vincent had emerged from the stairwell to stand behind Patty cautiously. The brunette was looking at the little girl curiously who was still glaring at the silver-haired man. Slate eyes slide over to the other man as the heated mug was sipped. Their eyes met over the blonde's head, crimson reflecting masked uncertainty.

"Patty," Dante said as he placed his coffee on the desk, eyes never leaving the ex-Turks, "I want you to meet Vincent Valentine—Valentine, meet Patty Lowell—A.K.A. the LSD gnat."

The young girl had opened her mouth to shout a retort to the name but nothing came out before she slowly turned around, her bright blue eyes widening at the sight of the pallid man. Slowly her sight scanned him over, starting at his socked feet, over his legs and torso, and finally resting on a pair of ruby eyes. Her breathing halted in pure amazement. Her tiny body swayed backwards while her eyes seemed to swallow up her face.

"Woah," she finally managed to say, completely awestruck by what was in front of her, "you're tall!"

Vincent looked down at her for a moment then back at the half-breed again, who was reclining in his desk chair again, arms folded behind his head carelessly. His slate eyes glimmered with silent mirth as they stared back at the brunette. They flashed with a sudden idea as a vague smirk presented itself on his lips.

"Anyways," Dante spoke into the silence, eyes drifting over to the rotary phone while he reached into one of the side drawers, "I gotta do a few things. Why don't you take Vincent shopping, Patty? Show him around town, too."

Patty turned her attention to the Devil Hunter then to the ex-Turk and back again, like a tennis spectator.

"You want _me_ to show him around?" she asked bewilderingly, blue eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to grasp what was being asked of her. Her gaze lifted towards Vincent as a sudden smile brightened her chubby little face.

"Okay!" the blonde suddenly exclaimed, bouncing excitedly on her toes, "leave it to me, Dante!"

The silver-haired man looked back at the child, an eyebrow raised in suspicion before handing her a couple one-hundred dollar bills.

"Don't go too crazy and make sure he gets things he needs—like a toothbrush, toothpaste, food he likes, and some clothes—understand, short stuff?"

Patty threw a glare at the older man, the only sign she gave to her irritation before it changed into a grin and turned her attention back to the silent brunette, "C'mon, Vincent. Bad company will spoil the day!"

She took his gloved hand in both of hers, as if cradling it gently, and began to lead the former assassin to the front door, "We'll go see the new clothing store, then go for lunch, then a movie-."

Dante caught Vincent's final look before he was taken away and recognized it very well—a plea for help.

Poor guy.

He was very glad not to be in that position again.

The Son of Sparda exhaled slowly when the large sound of the heavy doors latching shut echoed through the room. He picked up his coffee mug and sipped the heavenly beverage cautiously, feeling the comfort its heat caressing his esophagus so deliciously. His light colored eyes slid closed in pure bliss, a low moan escaping his throat. Leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, his mind wandered in the sudden peaceful silence of the office.

Things would definitely begin to get interesting around here, you can be sure of that. Although there will have to be changes made. Vincent couldn't just keep sleeping in Patty's room, and putting him on the couch was just wrong. That just left his room. Well, he supposed he could put the ex-Turk on a pallet until they could afford a small bed; his bedroom had enough room if they did some rearranging…

…and Morrison would definitely want to meet the poor man; and Patty—a new crush, maybe?

'_Vincent's going to have his hands full,'_ the half-breed thought, taking another sip of his coffee.

His wonderings brought him back to his agent and the sexy brunette he was currently housing. Dante knew that the old man would want to meet this "Vincent", probably would want to interview him. Slate eyes opened half-way to look at the rotary phone sitting quietly by his crossed ankles, weighing the pros and cons of calling the light-haired man at that particular moment.

'_Pros: Seeing Morrison's surprised face, possibly gathering information regarding Vincent's home, persuading Morrison to allow Vincent to hunt—if things pick up, that is, but definitely the man's reaction._

'_Cons: Seeing Morrison's reaction and getting many, many lectures on his foolishness, being denied strawberry sundaes indefinitely.'_

Damn. That mustached bastard sure made things difficult, even when he wasn't around.

The half-breed continued to stare at the black telephone as if it were to blame for his indecision. Taking another sip of his coffee ended up emptying the mug. Just as he set the cup down, he kicked the receiver into the air again and deftly caught it. Using one of his socked feet, he dialed a well memorized number before reclining in the chair again, the sound of the ringing tone echoing in his ear.

"_Morrison," _a bored male voice buzzed in his ear.

"Well, don't _you_ sound happy this morning," the half-breed quipped teasingly, looking at his nails uninterestedly.

"_Ah, Dante. Only you could sound so concerned about my moods," _Morrison shot right back, not missing a beat, _"What's going on?"_

"Is that a trick question?" Silence followed his statement, causing him to sigh, "I have something we need to discuss."

oOo

Hours later found Vincent Valentine walking up the cobbled street that Devil May Cry stood on, his arms laden with shopping bags while Patty skipped merrily beside him, chatting away, drowning out the small click of his boots that—thankfully—Patty let them come get just as Dante had finished his phone call and were out the door once again.

"So then I said to her, 'What makes you think I'll listen to you?' and _she_ said, 'Because I'm older.' I mean, how does that make any sense?"

The ex-Turk stayed silent, only paying half attention to the child's babbling. His crimson eyes kept themselves busy by secretly scanning his surroundings. A few people were out walking, possibly returning home as it was mid-afternoon—time for children and working adults to get home in time for supper.

As they neared the building, the brunette noticed a four-door car sitting at the curb, empty inside. A visitor…but that car looked familiar. So, not only did he have to deal with a mini-Yuffie all day, conflicting thoughts of his gracious host, and being in a different world altogether—he has to meet someone new again, most likely. He just wanted to relax, eat something that wasn't covered in sugar, tend to Cerberus, and read something…maybe even engage Dante in a conversation to learn more about him.

What the hell was he thinking? Being social is like wearing white for him…it _never_ happens.

"Vin—cent! Are you listening to me?" Patty's voice broke through his thoughts, making him absently nod—just as he would with Yuffie's babbling. It seemed to satisfy her curiosity and she continued to prattle on about her new stuck-up roommate at the orphanage.

They reached the front door a few moments later and despite having his hands filled with bags, he managed to open the door so that Patty could walk in first. The ex-Turk received a beaming smile from the child and she skipped into the large foyer.

He may have been a monster, but Shiva be damned, he could at least be chivalrous.

"Dante, we're back!" She called out loudly into the foyer.

When Vincent finally entered the room, he immediately felt Chaos stir at the presence of another. The large door closed behind him and shut out the light, letting him see the interior better. Dante was still where he left him—behind his desk with his new boot-clad feet propped on top of it, hands cradling a fashion magazine. He didn't even look up as he spoke, "Did you do as I asked? Or did you spend all my money on pink stuff again?"

"Go easy on the little miss, Dante," a new voice scolded jokingly, followed by a crack of resin on resin from the far side of the room. Crimson eyes zoned in on the source of the sound to see a familiar slim and classy-clad brunette straightening up to a standing position, holding a pool cue in his hands. Their eyes met; studying one another, neither one moving nor speaking for almost a full minute.

"**That one's not as tasty smelling,"** Chaos sounded bored in his mind, and Vincent ignored him. He realized this was the same man he had followed to Devil May Cry just last night.

"Morrison!" Patty cried with joy and bounced on her toes but she remained by Vincent's side.

"Hello, young lady," he said pleasantly, still refusing to look away from the raven-haired man.

"Are ya gonna stare at his pretty face all day, Morrison, or can he at least put his load down before you fully devour him optically?" the half-breed deadpanned, setting the magazine down and looking up at the brunette at the door.

Morrison hesitated a little longer before breaking into an easy smile, "My name is Morrison. You must be Vincent." A soft but hearty chuckle, "I'm sorry for my staring, I've just heard so much about you."

"Morrison," Patty said in curiosity, "what does—op-tick-itally—mean?"

The mustached man laughed and turned back to his solo billiards game, chalking the end of the pool cue and looking over to the young girl who now moved over to him, "It's a big word for your eyes, my lady. It's a term that doctors use."

The raven-haired man walked over to the desk with the bags and set them next to it. When he looked up, he noticed those slate eyes had peered over the side of the desk, trying to look into the bags. He raised an eyebrow in query, tuning out the chatter between the other brunette and the young blonde. Vincent stood upright and then pulled the change out of his pocket and placed it on the desk.

"I made sure she didn't spend it all," he said quietly, revealing a bunch of coins and some folded twenty dollar bills. He—and thankfully Patty—omitted that she had to teach him about how to count the money in this world. That was definitely a fun conversation.

"Glad someone around here is responsible," the silver-haired man stated as he watched Vincent pull out some plastic bags filled with various groceries and set them on the desk.

"Where would you like me to put my clothes—as well as the food items?" the assassin queried, looking up to see the half-demon noisily poking through the food contents before him to see plenty of healthy foods **(1)**; apples, oranges, yogurt, a box of bran cereal, a package of Skittles—this, Dante rose an eyebrow before moving on—a tube of whitening toothpaste, a black and white toothbrush, and polishing wax, among various other little food items.

"I can clear some space in my closet for you until we get you a dresser," Dante decided after a few minutes of an internal debate, "As for the groceries, you know where the kitchen is."

The ex-Turk nodded once and immediately took the plastic bags up the narrow staircase, the half-breed's gaze following the retreating man's back. His steel gaze stared at the empty doorway for a little bit longer before the growing sense of eyes pounded on him and he suddenly realized that it was really quiet in the foyer…

Dante snapped his attention to the two staring at him by the pool table, not even hiding their growing curiosity.

"What?" Dante snapped sharply, "I can look at whatever I damn well please! It's _my_ house, _my _business!" He then hurriedly picked up his magazine and buried his nose in its pages, trying to ignore their burning eyes.

Damn it!

After a few minutes, the talking resumed, leaving Dante to stew in his own irritation.

0o0

* * *

**(1):** I wasn't sure of what Vincent would eat, but considering his personality and what I know of his character I automatically assumed healthy foods. As for the Skittles—you'll just have to wait to find out!

Well, here's my latest update. Once again, I am very sorry that it's so late and I hope you all can forgive me!

Dante: It's okay, Yoshi. If they don't understand—

Vincent: I'll introduce them to Cerberus…and Chaos.

Yoshimara: ::eyes widen:: You'd do that for me? Thank you very much!

Please keep an eye out for my next installment which should be coming very soon! Thank you all very much for your patience and understanding! Much love and luck from the bottom of my heart!


End file.
